


Curse of Chamomile

by airandangels, chamomiletea (airandangels)



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Adoption, Anal Sex, Angst, Bathing/Washing, Blood and Injury, Complete, Cooking, Curse Breaking, Curses, Declarations Of Love, Destiny, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Eventual Happy Ending, Falling In Love, First Time, First Time Bottoming, Fuck Or Die, Holding Hands, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Jealousy, Love, M/M, Magic, Monsters, Multi, Open Relationships, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Praise Kink, Reconciliation, Regret, Rimming, Rough Kissing, Subspace, Talking, Threesome - F/M/M, and the other party is devotedly taking care of them, chosen family, if it's really hurt/comfort when one party is hurt, the blood and injury and the cooking are not related, unrealistic amounts of talking, while also giving them shit about what a mess they are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:15:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 197,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26441803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airandangels/pseuds/airandangels, https://archiveofourown.org/users/airandangels/pseuds/chamomiletea
Summary: Geralt of Rivia labours under the burden of a deadly curse - which Jaskier can easily help him to break, it's just terribly embarrassing to ask him.Considering that "First Time Bottoming" is one of the tags.(Takes place at an indeterminate point after the unpleasantness on the mountain, but before any other major narrative events arise.)(ETA: This started out as a piece of fluffy smut that has grown into a longer love story.)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 407
Kudos: 807





	1. The Curse

**Author's Note:**

> Defensive Disclaimer: I feel shy and weird about posting this story because I don't really go here. I have just watched the Netflix _The Witcher_ series once, haven't played the games or read the books, haven't participated in fan discussions, don't know the characters very well and am not at all sure I get their voices (Geralt is particularly difficult because he's so taciturn, but I have at least grasped from Tumblr the convention that he goes Hmmm a lot). However, this story (with the silliest possible premise) has been a fantasy that has kept me pleasantly amused during a stressful time and it seems not impossible that someone else would enjoy it.  
> Please disregard any concerns with continuity, lapses of tone or setting-appropriate language (not that that matters much when the show has people in mediaevalish high fantasyland using words like "okay," "gross" and "sexy"), bear in mind I don't know anything about these people that was not in the TV show and made things up with gay abandon (I am sheepish about this because normally when I write fanfic it's about characters I've been familiar with for years and I feel pretty confident I know what they're about), and most importantly, don't ask yourself which way around they are on the bed at any given point (right way up? lying across it? diagonally?), because I just sort of rotated them seamlessly for convenience.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Geralt turns to Jaskier for help, and Things Happen.

The rain hissed down on the road in dingy grey sheets, pattered through the foliage of the trees and drummed ceaselessly on the roof of the inn. It was a large and well-appointed inn, three storeys tall, the only convenient stopping point along a long and lonely road, and although the day was already quite dark in the early afternoon the windows were cheerfully golden with lamplight. The stables held a handful of horses and mules, grateful to be somewhere warm and dry with plenty to eat, and in the big ground floor room of the inn their riders and drivers were the same. In addition to good wine, decent beer and a ready supply of excellent fried fish caught in the river running behind the inn, there was entertainment in the form of a pretty good travelling bard who was regaling them with a ballad about a golden dragon. 

Anyone who had been listening carefully would have heard the splashing footsteps of another horse arriving outside, but no one was inclined to listen for that, so it came as a slight surprise to the company when the door banged open, admitting a gust of cold, damp air and a hulking figure in a streaming wet black cloak, who pulled back his hood to reveal bedraggled white hair and raked the room with a baleful gaze from unnaturally yellow eyes. The stranger’s appearance was a curious mixture of repellent, for his eerie colouring and glowering expression, and appealing for his otherwise handsome features. It would not have seemed inappropriate if this entrance had been accompanied by a thunderclap, but nature provided nothing so melodramatic. A few people turned around to look, and the bard missed a note before pointedly turning away and resuming his chorus. 

The stranger hung his drenched cloak on a peg by the door and went to the bar where he gruffly ordered a hot drink and stood sipping it and staring at the bard until his song ended. 

  
  


Geralt looked terrible, which was some satisfaction to Jaskier. He probably wasn’t sleeping again, which served him right. He also probably wasn’t going to do anything as civilised as apologising, unless glaring at you as if you’d seduced his mother and he’d found out during his birthday party was how witchers prepared to apologise.

He finished up “The Most Beautiful” to an indifferent patter of applause and a few coins in the hat — fair enough, it was a work in progress and he hadn’t quite figured out what he wanted to do with the bridge — thanked his audience and announced he would be taking a break. Geralt evidently took this as a cue to pursue him into the corner where he had a cup of wine and a nice bit of cheese waiting for him on a table. Jaskier sat down, Geralt sat down facing him, and it occurred to Jaskier how odd it was that they’d mirrored the way they sat during their first conversation, him with his back to the wall and Geralt with his back to the room. 

And that was what first made him think something funny was up, because Geralt never took a seat with his back to the room if he could help it. 

His feelings were still thoroughly hurt, though, so he gave him the coldest look he could muster and took a long drink and left it up to Geralt to break the ice, which was sure to make him highly uncomfortable. 

Geralt looked highly uncomfortable. He also looked as if he was actually trying to think what to say, as opposed to sitting in smouldering resentment of the rest of humanity, or at least Jaskier’s, expectation that he would make an effort to hold up his end of a conversation once in a while. That was interesting. 

“I need to talk to you,” Geralt said. 

“Oh, do you now,” said Jaskier, which wasn’t sparkling repartee but at least made the point that it was still up to Geralt to explain himself. 

“I need your… help,” said Geralt, which was astonishing, but also extremely annoying. 

“Oh, so you haven’t come crawling back because you’ve realised you were mean and horrible to me and you’re sorry and you hope we can be friends again, which we probably could, by the way, given that I am a very nice and forgiving person. You’re just here because you want something. Well, bugger off.”

“I wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t important,” Geralt said. 

“Right, so apologising to me for dumping me halfway up a mountain isn’t important, understood.”

“Jaskier, I’ve been cursed,” said Geralt urgently. 

That was worrying, but he still wasn’t understanding that he just needed to say he was sorry for the nasty things he’d said and then Jaskier would help him with anything, and that was infuriating. “I don’t care,” he said, untruthfully. “You’re a witcher, deal with it. Drink a potion or something.”

“It isn’t that simple. The curse has very specific conditions and I can only break it with someone else’s help.”

“Who cursed you, a lawyer?”

“No, a mage.”

“Look, I’m sure Yennefer —“

“This has nothing to do with her,” Geralt said hastily, and Jaskier realised that whatever it was, he didn’t want Yennefer to know about it. Either he wasn’t back with her, which would actually be sensible because she was mental and a bit mean, or he was and he’d fucked up in some way she would strongly object to — or make fun of. Despite himself he was curious. 

“Well, it’s nothing to do with me either,” he said. “What sort of curse?”

At this point, to Jaskier’s surprise and great interest, Geralt’s face turned scarlet. He mumbled something. 

“What was that?” Jaskier asked. 

“Fuck or die,” said Geralt in a low but audible voice. 

Jaskier, who was about to put his cup down, missed the edge of the table entirely and dropped the whole thing on the floor. “Shit,” he said. “You what?”

Geralt gave him a “you heard me, I don’t say things  _ three _ times” look. 

“And you’re telling  _ me _ because — all right, no, look, I may be somewhat light in my affections but that doesn’t mean I’m  _ anybody’s _ , and I’m still cross with you, and anyway you do realise there are people who do this sort of thing professionally, right? I  _ know  _ you know that.”  _ Stop babbling, you halfwit.  _

“That won’t work,” said Geralt stonily. “Conditions. I can’t pay anyone. They need to be — a volunteer.”

“Well, e-even so, you clean up nicely, obviously your personality’s a handicap but you don’t talk enough for that to be immediately apparent, you could find  _ someone _ . There’s no reason why it has to be me, is there?” Jaskier’s self-respect was at war with his very natural desire to be firmly fucked by the hottest albeit most sullen and difficult man he’d ever met. It was insulting for Geralt to just decide that he was good enough for that only when the alternative was literally death. 

Geralt was looking thunderous. His face was only getting redder, shading from scarlet to crimson. Abruptly he leaned across the table, put his mouth directly beside Jaskier’s ear, and whispered in a kind of hoarse growl, “It’s  _ get fucked  _ or die.”

He sat down again with a thump. Jaskier made a rather stupid face occasioned by the fact that he was emotionally overwhelmed and mentally negotiating with all the gods he didn’t believe in not to have a blatantly obvious erection when he stood up. “You know what,” he said, “I think we could discuss this better up in my room. No promises. But I’ll — I’ll hear you out.”

He got up, carrying his lute in front of him somewhat awkwardly, and waved Geralt towards the staircase. Geralt went up ahead of him, and they were quite steep stairs, so he spent several dizzying seconds on the way up at eye level with Geralt’s backside. Oh  _ wow.  _ It was one of those natural wonders so awe-inspiring that in between times when you saw it you began to doubt whether it could really have been all that special, maybe you were just a bit over-excited or drunk or something before, and then you got another good look at it and were forcibly reminded that it was quite heartbreakingly beautiful. 

At the top of the stairs he had to go round Geralt and show him the way to his room, a rather nice one at the back of the building with a view down the hillside to the river. It was nice when the sun shone, anyway; right now it was fairly dismal and he hurried to light a candle and then the oil lamp. Concentrating on doing that without setting himself on fire helped him to calm down enough to have at least a bit of dignity. When he’d finished he looked up to see that Geralt was standing at the window with his arms folded across his chest, looking out at the rain as if he blamed it personally for the current situation. 

“Right,” Jaskier said brightly, “suppose you begin at the beginning and tell me how you managed to get cursed in these particular terms.”

“I crossed a mage,” Geralt said. “That’s all it really takes. Do you want to help or not?”

“Obviously I don’t want you to  _ die,  _ so yes, I just — well, if you don’t want to tell me why they cursed you, at least explain about these specific conditions. What’s that about?” He tried to sit down casually on a chair and look as if this sort of thing happened all the time. 

“One, break the curse by the next new moon or I die of a bloody flux,” said Geralt. 

“Nasty,” said Jaskier sympathetically. “But you’ve got a few days.”

“Two, I have to get someone to fuck me. Three, it has to actually be their cock in my arse, no… substitutes. Four, they have to come inside me, five, I have to come with them inside me.” He finished off fast, still glaring out the window. 

“Are you sure this is a curse and not just someone trying to motivate you to get out a bit and have a good time?” Jaskier asked. 

“It’s intended to humiliate me,” Geralt rumbled. 

“Well, that’s a bit narrow-minded and prurient, isn’t it?”

“Of course it is.”

“This mage isn’t a very nice person.”

“He’s cursed me to die shitting my insides out, so no.”

“All right, let’s not dwell on that,” Jaskier said quickly. “But I still want to know why you’re asking  _ me _ .”

“You’ve done it, haven’t you?” Geralt asked irritably. 

“Well, yes. I mean, I’m about a 70-30 split, more women than men, but yes. So you haven’t?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s a real waste. But look, I’m far from the only one, and I can’t even be the only one you know.”

“You’re the one I know best,” said Geralt, “and you still owe me for going to that godawful party with you.”

“I owe people favours, yes, I don’t  _ owe _ them fucks.”

“It’s you because I trust you,” Geralt said, then, rather quietly, “please.”

“Of course I will,” Jaskier said, utterly undone by the “please” and the trust. “But you’re having a bath first, because you smell like a wet horse.”

  
  


He hung around in the bathroom in anticipation, watching Geralt undress and get into the steaming tub. The bathroom was another good feature of the inn, with copious hot water from a big boiler, and it helped that it wasn’t in great demand at this time of day. 

“You don’t need to be nervous,” he said, mostly because he himself was getting slightly nervous, in an enjoyable, fluttery way. “I understand it’s your first time and I’m going to be especially gentle and considerate.”

“I’m not a virgin,” Geralt muttered. 

“One rather special, sensitive part of you is. I mean, unless I’ve misunderstood. Was fair Yennefer perchance pegging you?” Geralt gave him a filthy look. “All right, you don’t need to be touchy. I thought that might be what you meant about substitutes. There’s nothing wrong with that. Teasing aside, though, I really am going to take care of you because I want you to enjoy it. Isn’t that the best possible revenge on this creep of a mage? Not only do you break his curse, you have a good time doing it and nobody feels humiliated at all. Especially not me. I get to feel like I fucked Geralt of Rivia. I mean, wow. Right?”

“Go and wait in your room,” Geralt said, and sank under the water. 

“Yes, all right,” said Jaskier. “You want to make yourself beautiful and fragrant for me, I understand.” He threw some bath salts on the surface of the bath, helped himself to a spare bucket of hot water and went back across the hall to his room. 

Geralt did seem to be taking a while about his ablutions. Well, he could get ready too. He made up the fire — warm, romantic, flattering lighting — and set the water beside it to keep warm, turned down the bed and made sure a few convenient bits and pieces were ready and waiting, a towel, soap and a few soft cloths, chamomile and sweet almond oil. He wondered if he should whip all his clothes off in advance, and settled on stripping down to his shirt, mostly undone, to show off some chest and leg. Well, almost all the leg. Leaving something to the imagination, but not much, because he didn’t think Geralt was as imaginative as all that. He lay down across the bed and struck a pose, just in time to look fetching when Geralt came in, padding barefoot, carrying a bundle of his clothes and wrapped up in a towel. He shut the door and stood looking at Jaskier for a moment before evidently deciding he was losing the initiative and needed to take it back. He threw the towel and the bundle to the ground and strode over to the bed naked and climbed on astride Jaskier on his knees and elbows. Then he stopped again, frowning. Whatever he was hesitating about, Jaskier didn’t have time for it; he wrapped his arms around Geralt’s bull neck and pulled him down and kissed him. 

It felt like that surprised Geralt. He responded but without much certainty. Jaskier was beginning to get an icky feeling that his heart wasn’t going to be in this, and he’d still definitely help him to break a curse, but if there wasn’t going to be any real passion about it that was disappointing. Still, it was an artificial situation and Geralt was probably nervous whatever he said, and he might warm up with some encouragement. Besides, now he smelled  _ really _ good. His skin was extra warm and still a little damp and his wet hair was scattering little drops on the sheets like a tiny private shower of rain, compared with the endless shushing roar of the rain outside. And yes, there it was, some real heat coming into the kisses, his tongue working against Jaskier’s more aggressively and a faint grunt with just a hint of a growl to it that sent a warm shiver through him. After a long, sweet moment of pressure they broke apart and looked at each other, Jaskier panting slightly. Geralt wasn’t, of course, and on impulse Jaskier pressed one hand to his bare chest and felt his weird, slow heartbeat.  _ Boom… boom _ , deep and emphatic. 

“You seemed surprised,” he told Geralt. 

“I didn’t know we were going to kiss,” Geralt said. 

“Of course we’re going to kiss, silly. I’ve wanted to kiss you since the first time I saw you. Among other things. Unless you actually object, I’m going to kiss you the whole time.”

“No objection,” said Geralt. 

“Good. And now, roll over and get used to me being on top.” Geralt complied, which gave him a little thrill; sitting astride him with his hands on his chest gave him quite a big thrill. He’d  _ seen _ it all before but getting to touch it like this was amazing. Whatever had made the hair on Geralt’s head grey didn’t affect the hair on his body, which was dark and surprisingly soft when you pushed your fingers through it. There was so  _ much _ firm, heavy muscle, it just felt extravagant and luxurious. He snuggled down and kissed Geralt again, moaning softly when he felt one big hand, then the other, come to rest on his thighs, then move up to rub his hips and grope his bottom. 

“You don’t have to,” Geralt said, muffled, after a very pleasant little while of Jaskier letting his hands wander. 

“Don’t have to what?” he asked. 

“All this. Just fuck me.”

“O-okay, I just got  _ very _ hard, but  _ all this _ is what I  _ want _ to do. All this kissing and stroking and whatnot, this is to get you relaxed and make sure it feels good.”

“Do you think I care if it hurts?” Geralt asked. 

Jaskier sat up, pushing his hair back from his face. “All right, you can cut  _ that _ out.  _ I _ care if it hurts. I’ve got  _ standards. _ Don’t you? Listen, when you’ve been with a virgin —”

“Never been with a virgin,” Geralt said. 

“Really? Okay.”

“Doesn’t feel fair,” Geralt said. He was still rubbing Jaskier’s hips and thighs, almost automatically. 

“Okay, but if you  _ were _ with a virgin, please tell me you wouldn’t just  _ fuck _ them without making sure they were comfortable, and eager, and nice and wet. I’ve got standards and one of those standards is I don’t hurt anyone with my dick. If you want me to come inside you, we have to do it so  _ I’m _ comfortable too. Got it?”

“Got it,” said Geralt.

“Good.” He pulled off his shirt and threw it aside; there was definitely no need for it. “Good boy. So just give me a minute or two for shameless muscle-worship. You’re so damn gorgeous.” It was nice, but sort of strange, but primarily  _ nice, _ how Geralt was letting him push him around a little bit, stroking his chest and lifting his arms to lie on the bed above his head. He was breathing slowly and deeply, looking up at him with a little curiosity but more patience, while Jaskier rubbed his chest and squeezed his nipples. Geralt seemed to have picked up a new pink scar here, over his ribs, and there was a scabbed, healing abrasion covering his left shoulder that he carefully avoided. “What’s this?” he asked. “Did you get a tattoo?” There was a kind of reddish-brown band around his left biceps and a squiggling trail of words in Elder script along the inside of his arm. 

“That’s the curse mark,” said Geralt. “It’ll be gone when we’re done.”

“Oh? I’ve never seen one like this. It’s the conditions, isn’t it? Yes… ‘Must get fucked by the next new moon or —’ yes, well, never mind that. ‘Must not pay or persuade a stranger, must be done by… one who loves you?’”

“The translation’s loose,” Geralt said. “It can be read as ‘one who cares for you’ or just ‘wishes you well.’”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes.”

“I think I qualify. Real cock, et cetera… come, yes… well, that’s all in order. And it helps that it just says you need to come with me inside you, it’s not asking for you to have a full prostate orgasm or for us to pop off simultaneously or anything.” He covered the curse mark with his hand and kissed Geralt deeply, lightly sucking his tongue. “You’re so  _ fucking _ hot. I’m not telling you anything you don’t know, am I? You know you’ve been driving me crazy. But I’m very… very patient.” He moved to kiss Geralt’s neck, tasting the sweat that was blooming on his skin and tracing the thick corded tendons with his tongue. His breathing was getting just a little heavier, and that made Jaskier feel rather accomplished.  _ I’m going to get the big strong stoic witcher all hot and bothered. He’s going to come so hard he’ll see stars. This curse is getting fucked into obliteration. _ He shifted to lick and suck Geralt’s nipples and slid his right hand down to stroke his cock. It was hot and thick and hard and actually a bit bigger than he’d imagined — and not fully hard, either, it was still pulsing and stiffening as he held and rubbed it. 

“Okay, my lovely, this is another thing I’ve been wanting… and something to help you get very relaxed…” He shuffled back down the bed and licked the sleek crimson head, keeping his tongue soft and very wet. Geralt grunted sharply and he reached down to grab Jaskier’s shoulder. 

“Stop,” he breathed, “I’ll come too soon.”

“Nothing on your arm says you’re only allowed to come once,” Jaskier pointed out. “I say you get a free turn here in my mouth. Don’t waste it.” He filled his mouth and sucked, swirling his tongue against the tip of Geralt’s cock as he rubbed the shaft. Geralt made a  _ sound _ that was half a moan and half a deep guttural growl that made him squirm. His hand shifted to grasp and rub the nape of Jaskier’s neck. 

“Oh, _ fuck,” _ Geralt said softly and fervently. 

“Mmhmm.” The one and only thing Jaskier didn’t like about oral sex was the fact you couldn’t talk to the other person while you did it, at least not without pausing and lessening the pleasure for them just when you wanted to really pile it on. He glanced up and managed to see Geralt’s face, his eyes closed with brows knit together and his mouth half-open as that growling moan rose up again. 

“You’re  _ good _ at that,” Geralt said breathlessly, and if his mouth hadn’t been full Jaskier would quite possibly have laughed at how impressed he sounded. He wasn’t quite sure if Geralt had been deprived of good head, which would be a shame, or if he just hadn’t expected  _ him _ to be so skilful, which was mildly insulting but not really bad when it meant his voice got that husky catch in it. He cupped his hand under Geralt’s plump balls and rolled them gently while he sucked his cock as deeply as he could. His mouth was watering anyway, and getting wetter and more slippery with precum. He loved Geralt’s taste, sharp and salty, and the smell of his hot skin and the feeling of his massive thighs tensing and relaxing on either side of him, his hips rising and falling as his buttocks did the same. He could hear his breath coming out of him in heavy chuffs now, and his hand would suddenly tighten on the nape of his neck before he remembered himself and loosened his grip. It was never hard enough to hurt Jaskier but it did keep reminding him how extremely strong Geralt was, and the thought of all that physical power lying there just  _ letting  _ him do as he pleased was thrilling.

“You mean I can come in your mouth, right?” Geralt asked suddenly and urgently, which was polite of him, although slightly too late because before Jaskier was through an affirmative “mmhmm” he groaned and tensed up and his cock spurted into Jaskier’s mouth, so much that he swallowed reflexively and then had to swallow again. He lifted off it with a gasp and took a moment to catch his breath and wipe his mouth before bending again to gently lick it clean and suck the last drops from the tip. He wiped his mouth again and clambered back up to kiss Geralt, heavily and wetly, and rested his forehead against his. 

“So are you just  _ very _ glad you asked me to take care of you or over the fucking moon?” he asked with a breathless little laugh. Then he realised he’d not only made Geralt come, he’d made him  _ smile _ , which felt amazing. 

“I’m glad,” Geralt said, with a small nod that rocked their heads together, and kissed Jaskier, the first kiss between them that he’d initiated, which was amazing upon amazing. 

“And you’re finally starting to feel properly relaxed. That’s what I wanted. Now we’re getting somewhere. Tell me, do you want to do this face to face or with me behind you?”

“Behind me,” Geralt said, as if he was pretty sure but prepared to be told he was wrong. 

“Good. That gives me the most fantastic view. I think you’ll be more comfortable too. Roll over.” He rolled off to one side to let him move, and tutted when he did. “You’ve got to start taking care of yourself, Geralt, I don’t want to see your lovely bottom all blotchy with saddle rash.”

“I can’t see where it is on me. I don’t carry a mirror to look at my backside,” Geralt said into his folded arms. 

“Well, rub chamomile over the whole area.”

“I’m not made of money.”

“So do you just wait to see  _ me _ and ask me to do it because you’re cheap? Good grief.”

“What happened to making me comfortable?” Geralt grumbled. 

“You’ll be more comfortable if you look after your skin, that’s all. It’s basic stuff, I’ve always got it with me.” To tell the absolute truth he made sure he had it in part because he never knew when he might run into Geralt and rather enjoyed looking after him, but that sounded a bit sad and needy so he left it aside for now. “So aren’t you lucky? You get the two in one treatment. I was going to give you a little massage anyway.”

“Go on, then,” Geralt said a little ungraciously. 

“I will, thanks.” He poured oil into his hands, rubbed them together and began at Geralt’s lower back. The firm pressure produced a little “oof” sound followed by a long sigh. “See? I’m good at this too. That’s where you feel a lot of tension, isn’t it?”

“Hrrmmm.”

“I like that noise, that’s nearly a purr.” He kept working at Geralt’s back for a few minutes, feeling him further relax. On his own part he was getting increasingly excited and doing his very best to be patient. He’d meant what he said about standards and it had become a point of pride now that he was going to make Geralt utterly melt with pleasure. He was starting to feel obsessed with Geralt’s arse, right in front of him, so big and firm, so thick and sleek, and it was high time he slid his hands down to squeeze and stroke those curves. 

“You’re good at that too,” Geralt mumbled after a while. 

“I really am. If I wasn’t cut out by destiny to be a bard — well, I’ve got dual vocations as a bard and as a lover.”

“Thought you were going to say you’d be a good prostitute.”

“I would be an  _ outstanding  _ prostitute. Or a terrible one, because I’m picky.” He drizzled on a little more oil and moved down to knead the tops of Geralt’s thighs. That seemed to be a sensitive area, especially the crease under his buttocks, and he made very gratifying little sounds. The fact he was getting deeply into the feeling was proven by the lack of any commentary on Jaskier’s pickiness or lack thereof. Jaskier pressed his buttocks apart with his thumbs and Geralt reacted to the slight stretching sensation with a restless arching of his back. “Just tell me when you’re ready for me to start touching in between.”

“I’m ready now.”

“You don’t have to rush it to show me you’re a big brave boy.”

“I  _ want  _ it,” Geralt said in a low growl that made Jaskier’s cock twitch. He took a deep breath and reminded himself how incredibly lucky he was right now, and he would get even luckier if he was just patient for a little bit more, and slid his fingers down to rub between Geralt’s buttocks. 

“There we go. How’s that?”

Geralt grunted softly and spread his legs wider, lifting one knee. 

“You definitely know what you want, don’t you?” 

“Hrrmm.”

“You’re doing so well, my lovely, I’m feeling  _ very _ good about this.” He rubbed the tender pucker of Geralt’s anus with slick, oily fingers and felt it twitching and yielding a little. The tip of his middle finger popped in easily. “Are you  _ sure _ you haven’t done this before?”

“Mrrmmm.”

“No kind of anal training at all? Because you’re opening up like a little flower in the sun here. Maybe you’re just gifted.” He slid his finger deeper into the tight, silky heat, and Geralt moaned. “Yes, I can feel it, nature made you to get fucked. This tight little ring’s going to squeeze my cock so nicely… want some more?”

“ _ Yes _ ,” grunted Geralt, trying awkwardly to lift up his backside. 

“Just a second. Grab a pillow, that’s right, stuff it in under you. Get another one if you need it. All right. Deep breath.” He pushed his ring finger in beside the middle one, and grinned at the way Geralt gasped and quivered. “Oh, you’re feeling that so deeply, aren’t you? Did you think it was going to feel like this? I hope you know this is just the start.” He gently pumped his fingers for a few strokes, feeling Geralt’s anus flutter and twitch, then reached deeper, gradually turning his hand and feeling along the wall of the slick passage. He felt a little something firm and pressed in on it, and Geralt gave a sharp, hoarse cry. “Feel that?”

“ _ Fuck! _ ”

“Exactly. I’m going to fuck this little sweet spot so hard. You can feel my fingers pressing on it and making it pulse, right? Imagine how you’ll feel when my cock hits it, again and again.” Maybe he was teasing Geralt a bit too hard. The way he was panting sounded desperate, but desperate was a good way for him to feel just now. He took his time and stroked until the quivering and the moaning were both constant. “So tell me, Geralt of Rivia, what do I do now?”

“Fuck me!”

“You’re sure now?” He pulled out his fingers, pressed the shaft of his cock into the cleft of Geralt’s buttocks and slid it up and down, drizzling on a bit more oil.

“Fuck me  _ now!” _

“Here it comes then.” There didn’t seem like any more reason to go slow. He took his cock in hand and pushed it in deep, enveloping it in soft heat.  _ I’m not just being greedy, I’m breaking the curse, I’ve got to come inside him. I am saving this man’s life by fucking his perfect tight arse as hard as I can, this is easily the most noble thing I’ve ever done.  _ He draped himself over Geralt’s broad, sweating back, braced his arms and pumped into him ecstatically. “Ah! Ah!” The pleasure was fierce and hot and luscious, overwhelmingly so, and Geralt was groaning deeply and squeezing down on his cock. He wanted to make it last because it felt so  _ good,  _ but he’d waited too long. After just a few blissful minutes the urgency grew to bursting point, and he came with a huge gush of delight and relief. His pounding hips stuttered and slowed to a stop as the last shocks of the climax rushed through him, and he went limp, lying on Geralt’s back with his face buried in the damp tangle of his hair. Geralt was still moaning faintly, and he felt a bit sorry for him; he must be at the end of his tether. 

When he had got his breath back a bit he smacked a kiss on Geralt’s shoulder and said, “Your turn now. Let’s make you come.”

“Already did,” Geralt mumbled. 

“Already? Damn, I’m good.” 

Geralt lifted his head a bit, looking back at him with a glint in his eye. “I used my hand too.”

“But I fucked you right, didn’t I?”

“You fucked me right.” He sounded deeply satisfied.

“Ooh! Show me your arm.” The reddish-brown curse mark had faded almost completely, and as the two of them watched it blended into Geralt’s flushed skin altogether. “That’s fantastic. I’ve never broken a curse before. This makes me a hero too, right? I wonder if I can get a song out of this.”

“If you ever publicly perform a song about fucking me, I’ll break your neck. I’m warning you because I’m grateful.”

“A crime against humanity. Depriving them of my talent. And depriving yourself of another round of this.” He pushed his hips against Geralt’s slippery bottom. “What if I change all the names?”

“If it’s still about a bard fucking a witcher, people can put two and two together.”

“Mmm. You are sort of my greatest hit. We’ve been good for each other professionally.”

“Each other?”

“It’s thanks to my public relations efforts that people throw coins at you now instead of rocks.”

“They don’t throw enough coins.”

“But far fewer rocks, right?”

“I will give you that.” Geralt reached one hand up and back, an awkward gesture, and rumpled Jaskier’s hair, which made him have to nuzzle his face into his back in abject enjoyment. “Thanks. How long are you planning to stay inside me?”

“How long am I welcome? Are you sore?”

“I’m not sore at all.”

“You really are naturally gifted then. Maybe it’s a witcher thing. After my first time I had to sleep lying on my tummy. Of course, you  _ are _ lying on your tummy. See how you feel after I pull out and you need to move. But lie there for now and I’ll help you clean up.” He eased out and gave him a friendly pat on the bottom. The water by the fire was still nice and warm for a quick yet thorough wash for himself, and then he returned to the bed with a clean damp cloth for Geralt, who had propped himself up on his elbows and was watching him contentedly. It felt nice to be admired, so he stopped and gave him a twirl for the full view. “Feel free to feast your eyes.”

When he turned back around, though, Geralt looked alarmed. “What? Have I got something on me?”

“I didn’t notice it before,” Geralt said. “Look at your chest.”

Jaskier looked down and gave a little yelp of shock. There was a reddish-brown circle over his heart and a few lines of Elder writing that he couldn’t read upside down. “What the hell is that?” He wiped at it with the washcloth, which did nothing. 

Geralt looked stricken. “I am so sorry,” he said, getting up onto his knees on the bed. “I had no idea it would transfer, I’ll kill the bastard—“

“All right, don’t panic, tell me what it says first.” He hurried over to the bed and clambered up beside him. It was all very well to say “don’t panic” but his heart was thumping. 

Geralt peered at his chest, brushing back the hair with the side of his thumb to see the markings more clearly, and then shut his eyes and clenched his jaw tightly for a moment before looking Jaskier in the face and saying, “‘Do it again or the curse moves to your boy.’”

“What? How would that even  _ work? _ The curse  _ has _ moved to me. If we do it again does that just bounce it back to you? Where does it end? I can’t just fuck you for the rest of my life, I’ve got engagements!” Jaskier babbled, then inhaled sharply. “Oh my goodness, is the old pervert watching us somehow? This is just demeaning!” He looked up at the ceiling and shouted, “Whoever you are, you should be ashamed of yourself! There are words for people like you and they’re not very nice!”

“Calm down,” said Geralt. “You don’t have to do anything, I’ll find another way. I am not letting this hurt  _ you _ .”

“That’s not the point, I wanted to do it some more anyway. Now it’s spoiled the fun. What are you smiling about?”

“How unnecessary it is to use a curse, when I wanted more too.”

“That… is a really good point. Whoever’s doing this thinks you’ve got to be forced. They can’t imagine that you’ve actually enjoyed it. Which again is very disrespectful to me and hello, not a  _ boy!” _ he added to the ceiling. “Boyishly charming, all right, I’d accept that. I have a certain youthful allure. Right. I’m settling down, I’m not scared, just  _ offended _ .” He took a deep breath and let it out. “By the way, I really liked you saying ‘I am not letting this hurt  _ you _ ’ all intensely.”

“I said it normally,” said Geralt. “There’s no reason why you should suffer for trying to help me. That’s a plain fact.”

“You’re just quite an intense person generally. It’s at least ten percent of why I fancy you. The growly voice and the smouldering gaze.”

“It’s just my voice and my face.”

“That’s the point. It wouldn’t work if you were doing it on purpose. Take a compliment, you big gruff weirdo. Okay, so…” He paused to think. “In the name of getting rid of my unwanted new body art but more importantly exploring our impressive sexual chemistry, I say we do what we want and just pity the gross old creep who thinks this is some kind of degrading punishment for you. How’s that sound?”

“Like the best we can possibly do.”

“Imagine thinking that’s a curse. ‘Blah, I curse you to have fun sex with someone you like.’ Tragic.” He gave Geralt a sly look. “You like me. You’ve completely blown your deniability on that.”

“If I like you, you’ll know it. I just don’t write songs about it.”

“Give me some subtle indications of how much you like me.” Jaskier put his arms around Geralt’s shoulders and kissed him. He was moving from the initial excited but uncertain “your mouth is unfamiliar and very interesting” feeling to the more comfortable “I’m starting to know my way around here and I like what you do.” Geralt wasn’t quite as aggressive as he’d thought he might be — pretty forceful once he got warmed up, but with some delicacy too. He was going to have to put some chamomile oil on his own face later, or have a very red pash-rash from the stubble on Geralt’s upper lip and chin, but just now the rough scratchy sensation was a thrill, and it was a further thrill when Geralt pushed him down on the bed and climbed on top of him, still kissing him hungrily.  _ The big bad white wolf is going to eat me up. Yes please. I deserve it.  _ He felt Geralt’s hand move down between them to stroke his cock and arched up to him. “Question,” he breathed against his lips. 

“Hmm?” Geralt let go of his cock which was a bit disappointing but probably better if he needed to make coherent words. 

“It says ‘do it again.’ Does that mean do it the same way? All the same things?”

“Um.” Geralt looked like he was also having to make an effort to think with his brain, which was flattering. “It has to mean do the same things required by the first mark. Those conditions.”

“Yeah, they’re very literal, aren’t they? The exact words. So anything else we did is extra and we can change it?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I want to be face to face this time and kiss you the whole time. See your face while I fuck you. No? You don’t look comfortable, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” Geralt said, and tried to kiss him again. Jaskier quickly put his hand between their mouths. 

“No, tell me why. I don’t want to do it if you’ll hate it. You don’t have to be all stoic. Hang on, is  _ that _ why? You’re all stoic by habit so letting someone see your face make  _ expressions  _ feels weird and uncomfortable?”

Geralt nodded. 

“This isn’t hard for you because it’s a curse or because we’re both men or any backward ideas about taking it up the arse,” Jaskier said, feeling suddenly inspired and wildly insightful, “it’s hard for you because you hate feeling vulnerable or passive or  _ letting _ people do things  _ for _ you or  _ to _ you. It’s scary. I’m right, aren’t I? Oh, you make so much more sense now. Then you were really brave before. Not chopping heads off monsters brave or fighting twenty armed bastards brave, trusting me and letting me take the lead brave. All right, don’t glower at me like that, I know you don’t like being  _ understood. _ I’ll stop.”

“I don’t like you  _ gloating _ about understanding me.”

“That wasn’t a gloat! I’m much more insufferable when I gloat. I’m  _ happy _ to understand you better. It didn’t make sense before but now, well, I sympathise, I don’t think you’re  _ just _ being grumpy and cold. And, well, it means any time you’ve let me try to help you means a lot, even if it was only a little thing, right? So I’ll appreciate that more.”

“This wasn’t a little thing,” Geralt said. 

“No, it really wasn’t. It’s your life.”

“But now it’s your life.”

“I know, but we know what to do, and if we finish up and there’s a message on  _ you _ saying ‘do it again but this time wear hats,’ I’ll come with you and help kill him.”

“Have you ever actually killed someone?”

“Not literally, no. Lyrically I’m guilty of several brutal murders.”

“I don’t want you to. It’s... not very nice.”

“I’ll find a way to help. You can’t stop me.”

“You’re helping me now.” A deep, soft kiss and Geralt’s warm weight on his body, pinning him down. 

“I’m going to  _ help _ you so  _ hard.” _ He wrapped his arms tightly around Geralt’s shoulders and shifted his legs to wrap around his waist. They rubbed together, still kissing, and he felt Geralt’s cock nudging and stiffening against his.  _ I wish he’d talk about what he likes… what it is about me that  _ moves _ him… but maybe “I trust you” is  _ it _ with him. Did he trust Yennefer? I hope not like he trusts me now. I want to be special. I want to be his favourite. And as long as I’m wishing, I’d like the moon and a unicorn and Geralt to make me a fresh flower crown every day.  _ “Roll over,” he breathed between kisses.

“No.”

“Come on… I want you.”

“We’re doing it face to face like you wanted.”

“Then I promise I won’t stare. But you can still roll over, just bring me with you.” They rolled together until he was on top, Geralt’s hands squeezing and kneading his buttocks. “Also, tell me I’ve got a lovely bottom. Because you clearly think so.”

“You do have a lovely bottom,” Geralt said readily. “It’s very soft.”

“I have been told it’s like a little white peach.”

“Good for you.”

“You wouldn’t perhaps like to describe any part of me with a flattering simile?”

“No, I’ll leave that to you.”

“Fair enough. Ooh…” He caught his breath, feeling Geralt’s fingers between his buttocks, rubbing and lightly probing. 

“Do you also ‘open up like a little flower in the sun?’”

“With a bit of lubrication I do, but that’s for later. No, come on, curse, remember?” He gave a squirm of combined pleasure and reluctance, but undid any effect it might have by continuing to kiss Geralt and rock gently against his hand.  _ Maybe after all we could take a quick break from curse-breaking and just let him do me once — no, that’s really dumb, it just feels so good where he’s rubbing me… _ “We need to stay focused,” he said sternly, “you can play with my bum as much as you want later. Stop that, get out of it. You’re making me go all silly.”  _ Trying to feel like he’s in charge, I bet. Or he just honestly enjoys playing with my bum too much to stop in a hurry and I can’t say I blame him, it is awfully nice.  _

“Sorry,” said Geralt, plainly not sorry but taking his hands away to rest on Jaskier’s back. 

“Good. So you should be. I don’t know why I bother.” He lifted himself up and pushed Geralt’s knees apart with both hands. “Now just lie down, spread your legs, rub your cock if you want to and be  _ good _ . Let me just…” He’d misplaced the oil bottle, so he had to crawl around finding it with Geralt lazily watching him. It was a relief to be on top of him again, kissing him, feeling the rise and fall of his massive chest and the murmurs and soft grunts of his reaction as Jaskier worked his slick fingers up inside him again. “It’s better the second time, isn’t it?” he asked, tilting his head to kiss Geralt’s neck. 

“Easier,” Geralt agreed. 

“I can feel that. Nice and tight, but not too tense. You really do have a glorious body. I enjoy it  _ so _ much.” He trailed kisses down over Geralt’s chest and tried licking his nipples, so that they pricked up too, all while he steadily pumped and flexed his fingers. Geralt was moving restlessly again, tilting his hips. He had taken Jaskier’s advice about touching himself, wrapping one hand around the shaft of his thick, ruddy cock and lightly tugging at it. That heavy, chuffing breathing had started again, and his head was tipped back, his eyes closed and his lips parted, sometimes twisting with a little frown. He looked so beautiful Jaskier almost forgot what he was trying to do, at least with his hands. “D’you think you’re ready for me?” he asked.

“ _ Yes, _ ” Geralt groaned. 

“One second.” He quickly oiled his cock and wriggled into position, gripping Geralt’s hips while he sank in. “That’s so  _ good. _ ” He bit his lower lip as he felt Geralt tighten up around him. On a second round it was naturally less urgent, but it was still thrillingly new and how many years had he been hoping this might happen? He thrust in and pressed close and kissed Geralt’s mouth avidly. “Here we go,” he breathed, “time to fuck the curse right out of you.”

“Do it.” Geralt really was trying to meet his gaze, but his eyes kept flickering away.

_ He’s actually shy, that’s adorable. I bet that doesn’t last, that’s really not my Geralt. _ Geralt’s face showed a spasm of shocked pleasure as Jaskier thrust deeper, and he actually tried to cover it with his free hand. His breath hissed and sizzled between his teeth and his thighs and belly tensed. 

“It’s okay,” said Jaskier, yielding. “I’m not watching.” He lowered his head to kiss Geralt’s shoulder, and heard him moan with relief. “Just enjoy it. Am I hitting the spot?”

“Cuh-close.”

“What about now?”

“ _ Fuck,” _ said Geralt fervently. 

“Good. Don’t forget to breathe.” He started with a nice, slow, controlled rocking of his hips, savouring the silky heat on his cock and, once again, just how strange and lovely it was to have  _ Geralt _ on his back with his legs spread for him. He kept kissing his shoulder, where the little scabs of the abrasion were rough on his lips, and licked the thick column of his throat. Geralt’s moans rose and he began to raise his hips to meet each thrust, clenching his buttocks so his anus also tightened and loosened rhythmically. “That’s so  _ good, _ Geralt, I’m in heaven!”

“I’m in heaven” was a slightly poetic thing he’d sort of trained himself to say in these heart-pounding moments when what he  _ wanted _ to say was “I love you.” He absolutely meant it, but the trouble was experience had shown he meant something a bit different by “I love you” than a lot of other people did; he meant a big warm rosy-pink and gold heart-throb of “I find you incredibly attractive and delightful and I love how I feel when I’m with you and I want to give you joy in the most intimate way and make you feel exactly as wonderful as you are to me, hooray!” He meant “I love you  _ now,” _ and other people tended to think he meant things like “I’m ready to marry you, tell your disapproving parents/resentful grown-up children” and “Leave your rightfully suspicious wife, let’s run away together” and “I’m not afraid of your massive and rather unstable husband!” At least Geralt didn’t have any of those but he might be in the group that heard it as “I’ll love you  _ forever _ ” and they were so easily disappointed and betrayed. “I’m in heaven” was a lot less likely to lead to hurt feelings, hasty words and having to try to run while pulling his pants up.

Geralt bucked against him and gasped; he sounded ecstatic and Jaskier could not resist trying to see his face. He sneaked a glance and found that not only was Geralt clearly in ecstasy, his eyes were tightly closed, the better to focus on what he felt, and he would have no idea that Jaskier was looking. It was sneaky, but Jaskier  _ was _ sneaky, he had no compunctions about that, and he pushed himself up on his arms to gaze exultantly at the radiant passion on Geralt’s face. He silently mouthed the words “I love you” just for his own satisfaction and began to pump his hips faster. Geralt grabbed his bottom with both hands and clutched it so tightly Jaskier yelped. “Oh, yes!” The bedstead was creaking and thumping against the wall, the rain outside was roaring, he was vigorously fucking someone absolutely lovely and doing it really  _ well. _

This time Geralt very clearly came first, shaking and clutching him, letting out a joyful bellow as his cock twitched and spurted between them. “That’s it!” Jaskier cried, thrusting madly onward, “you love it, don’t you? Oh, I love  _ you!” _ Whoops, but he was at the peak now and couldn’t possibly choose his words while coming so hard. He gushed and trembled and sank down on Geralt’s belly bathed in sweat and blissful release. He lay there panting for a while, feeling his heart go  _ boomboomboom _ in his chest while Geralt’s continued its forceful, but not quite so slow now,  _ boom… boom.  _ Gradually he got back to something more normal, and the deep  _ boom _ slowed further still. Geralt was breathing deeply with little pleased sounds in between, not quite moans and not quite hums. Jaskier patted him rather weakly on the shoulder.

“Okay,” he said, “second time was amazing. If we go on like this, third time might slam the curse back where it came from.”

“Let me see your chest,” Geralt said, pushing him up. His brief frown cleared. “You’re fine. It’s gone, you’re fine, we’re both fine.” He pulled Jaskier back down in a tight hug, and let out a deep, shuddering moan of relief. 

“I was too horny to worry for most of the time but you sound like it was really bothering you,” Jaskier mumbled, very much muffled with his face pressed into Geralt’s sweaty chest. 

“I only remembered to worry when you said ‘curse’ just then,” Geralt said. “Till then I wasn’t thinking of anything at all. That really… we fit together well.”

“Thank you for that masterful understatement. I can’t breathe.”

“Sorry.” The pressure of his huge arms lessened and Jaskier lifted himself up on one elbow and wiped his face with the other arm. 

“We both need a bath,” he said, “but I’m completely fucked out, so I’m just going to make do with the bucket.”

“Stay here. I could sleep with you inside me,” Geralt said in a low drowsy rumble. “Feels like you belong there now.”

“That is a  _ lovely _ thing to say but I’ll feel gross if I don’t. Sticky.” He pulled out, kissed Geralt on the nose and went on extremely wobbly legs to the fireside. Even this sleepy, he had standards.  _ And anyway, I’d like to have a clean fresh dick ready for Geralt if he happens to feel like sucking it later. Not soapy-tasting, either, give it all a good rinse. _ He tried to remember what he’d done with the cloth he meant to offer Geralt after the first time; hadn’t used it, probably dropped it somewhere, so he dutifully wet and wrung out another and wobbled back to the bed where he found Geralt was fast asleep, still flat on his back with his legs splayed. 

“You do realise you’ve got cum all over your tummy, you messy slut,” Jaskier said, giving it a half-hearted wipe-down and yawning. “Stuff it, you won’t die of a sticky bum,” he mumbled. He pushed Geralt’s arm up, nestled in under it against his body, and pulled the covers up over them both. He was already falling asleep as he snuggled down. 

By the time he woke up it was completely dark, the dark of night rather than a cloudy afternoon. The candle and the lamp had burned out and the fire was down to embers. The heavy rain had stopped but he could still hear a lower roar of water from the swollen river. He was blissfully warm and comfortable snuggled under the quilt with Geralt now spooning him. The only thing that wasn’t truly perfect was how severely he needed to piss. His bladder felt the size of one of Geralt’s fists. With extreme reluctance he tried to wiggle out from under Geralt’s heavy arm. Geralt grumbled in protest and pulled him back into a bear hug, settling down with a long soft exhalation ruffling Jaskier’s hair. He tried again with more determination and got bear-hugged again. All right, that was unexpected, Geralt was an aggressive cuddler. 

“Geralt,” he said, “let me up or I’ll wet the bed.”

“Hmmm,” said Geralt, clearly still asleep, and squeezed him contentedly. 

“I mean it, I’m busting. So excuse… me…” He wriggled downward this time and escaped Geralt’s grip, burrowing under the covers and back up on the outside. Then he couldn’t remember which side of the bed the chamberpot was under and rummaging to find it in the dark was more than he could cope with so he just scurried over to the window, pushed it open and pissed out into the night. Hopefully there was nobody just below taking the night air. He sighed with relief. No one was cursing him from ground level so that was okay. It was a very  _ long _ pee. It was still flowing as he heard Geralt roll off the bed and pad across the floorboards, then hug him tightly from behind and kiss the back of his neck. Jaskier yipped faintly and managed not to misdirect his stream.

“Come back to bed,” Geralt said in a sleepy rumble that ran a tickle up his spine. 

“I’m answering a call of nature.” It seemed to be done now.

“Oh.” Geralt nudged him slightly to the side, stepped up to the window and did the same. Jaskier had to laugh, leaning against the window frame.

Geralt yawned hugely, like a lion. “What?” he asked.

“Nothing, this is so companionable and chummy. I always wanted us to be closer friends. This is how you express it, is it?”

“That’s a lot to read into a quick piss,” said Geralt, shaking it off. “Read into this instead.” He turned and tipped up Jaskier’s chin with his hand and kissed him heavily, pushing his tongue into his mouth for a moment. “Now come back to bed.”

“No objection,” said Jaskier, following him. Geralt seemed to be in an authoritative mood now, which he didn’t mind. He was hoping for “come back to bed so I can administer a thorough ravishing,” but at first it seemed to be “come back to bed and sleep in my manly embrace,” because Geralt just bundled them up and curled around him again. 

“I might be getting a bit of a second wind,” Jaskier said hopefully. “That was a nice nap, but the night is young.”

“Hrrmm.”

“I mean, I assume it’s young. What do you think?”

“Mrrmm.”

“You’re very cuddly.”

“You like cuddly.”

“I  _ do _ like cuddly. I wondered a little bit if once the curse was out of the way you’d want to go back to the way things used to be.”

“No going back,” said Geralt. “Things have definitely changed for good.”

“I mean, I’ve really seen a new side of you. You’ve seen a new side of  _ yourself. _ Did you have any idea you were going to be such a lovely bottom?”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Geralt grumbled. 

“No, come on, introspect with me. What did you think?”

Geralt huffed through his nose; Jaskier felt it on his shoulder. “I thought I was mostly going to need to put up with it. I thought I could trust you to make it as comfortable and easy as possible. I didn’t expect a lot of pleasure, and I thought I’d really struggle to come.”

“One out of four,” Jaskier said smugly, and wriggled his bottom in Geralt’s lap. “You know what I was worried about?”

“What?”

“That you wouldn’t really feel anything for me, and it would just be a mechanical physical thing, do the right things to the right parts of your body to get the desired reaction, and done. Closed off. But you opened up like a flower in the sun.”

“I thought you were talking about my arsehole when you said that.”

“I was, it’s a double entendre.”

“It changed when you started kissing me,” Geralt said. “I don’t know why.”

“You’re a great big secret romantic and sweet kisses are the key to your heart.”

“No.”

“I mean, I am a  _ good _ kisser but I don’t think I could kiss a man into being sexually attracted to me if he wasn’t before.”

“Wasn’t that I wasn’t ever attracted to you,” Geralt mumbled against his hair. “You were just too annoying. And persistent. And keen.”

“Should I have been aloof? Geralt, if you play hard to get, you don’t get  _ got.” _

“I don’t know. You got me,” Geralt said, and gave his bottom a small squeeze.

“I did,” said Jaskier happily, and forebore to mention the whole “or die” element. It didn’t deserve credit. It didn’t account for how Geralt had responded to him. It also didn’t seem all that real now, compared with the reality of Geralt’s lips kissing his neck and Geralt’s hand stroking his buttocks. “And I did say you could play with my bum as much as you liked later on, and it’s later on.”

“Mmm.” The other hand stroked up and down his belly, then further down to cup around his cock. 

“Just wondering…”

“Hmm?”

“Am I the only man you’ve felt this way about?”

“What did you say you were, 70-30 women and men? I suppose it’s more like 95-5 for me. Don’t often meet one, and you’re the first one who was interested, in circumstances where we could do something about it.”

“That makes sense.” It didn’t really, but Geralt seemed to think it sounded reasonable and he didn’t feel argumentative. In Jaskier’s opinion, circumstances were what you made of them; if you actually liked someone you could almost always sort something out. Then again, given Geralt’s life, maybe he was thinking less “I saw him at one party and didn’t learn his name and we were never invited to the same place again and I didn’t do anything about it” and more “I was just about to tell him I liked him when he was bitten in half.” And if he liked women far more often it was true he would have far more opportunities with them and it would be easy, pragmatically, to focus on what was most likely to work out. Maybe it was reasonable in that sense, but reasonable meant Geralt had spent his unnaturally long life up to this point never acting on an apparently strong desire. What a weirdo he was. But he was kissing Jaskier’s neck and fingering the cleft of his bottom and then he lightly  _ bit _ the nape of his neck and that sent a surge of lust through him that made him squirm. 

“Is it just playing with it that you like or can I fuck you?” Geralt asked. 

“You can  _ absolutely _ fuck me. If we can find the oil again. No dice without that. I learned  _ that _ the hard way.”

There was a brief intermission as they both ransacked the bed for the oil bottle. Geralt found it, with its cork missing but wedged upright between the mattress and headboard. He put his finger into the neck as a temporary stopper and held it up; they both squinted at it in the gloom.

“Just enough for one more time, I think,” said Jaskier. “So we’ll make it count.” 

“Hold it,” said Geralt, giving him the bottle, “and do  _ not _ spill it.”

“Oh, you’re trusting me with a job? I won’t let you down. What are  _ you _ going to do?”

“You,” said Geralt, and kissed him hard. 

“See, you  _ can _ do wordplay. Hold on, what are we doing? Oh, I see.” Geralt was pulling him to kneel astride his lap as he sat upright on the bed. He draped his arms over Geralt’s shoulders and settled in to kiss him while getting his bottom comprehensively groped, both big hands roughly squeezing and kneading his buttocks. He was too excited to particularly care but he thought he might have finger-bruises in the morning. At one point Geralt actually grasped both cheeks and shook them, growling in his throat, and Jaskier felt him smiling and realised this was Geralt being playful with him and laughed in delight. 

Geralt gave him a brisk little slap on the bottom with one hand. “Look alive,” he said, and held up his hand. “Unless you want to do this dry after all.” 

“Oh! Right.” He poured some oil in Geralt’s hand and watched avidly as he passed it down between their bodies, between his legs, and up to rub into his cleft. The oil spread slickly and he felt Geralt’s fingertips press behind his balls and run up and down his perineum. He panted frantically and leaned on Geralt. “Rub there… rub harder… aah…”

“Like this?”

“Fff… yes. Can you put one finger in? One finger first. Hnnnh…” His spine stiffened and he unconsciously drew his hips up before taking a deep breath and pushing down on Geralt’s oiled finger. “Ohh!” It tingled and throbbed, and he felt his anus stretch sweetly. He moaned and bore down harder. 

“Tight,” Geralt muttered. 

“Just at first, trust me. I know… you trust me… ooh, pump it a little bit, that’s it. There’s definitely room in there for you. Wiggle your finger around.”

“I have done  _ this _ before.”

“You must know some very naughty ladies then. They don’t have the sweet spot we have, though. Can you find mine? You’re close. There!” 

“Your face lights up.”

“It feels like the inside of me lights up. It’s so  _ hot. _ Can you get your ring finger in too?” He inhaled sharply and his hips twitched. “Ohhh… it feels so  _ rude, _ doesn’t it? I  _ love _ that. Move them slowly. I’m nearly ready for you. Can you believe after all this time you’re finally going to fuck me? You could’ve done it the first day we met… but maybe it wouldn’t have been as good… because it’s so  _ fucking _ good now… okay, do it, fuck me.” He groaned as Geralt pulled his fingers out and pushed the head of his cock into their place. It stretched the rim of his anus and began to hurt. “Stop, stop, put some more oil on it.” He poured what was left in the bottle over it and dropped the bottle, wondering if it had been too much after all, but it slipped in so easily now, Geralt grunted so deeply, it was so thick and so hard and he was so full, and he hugged Geralt’s head against his chest and moaned as Geralt grabbed his hips and pushed them down.

_ I want to remember this exactly how it is, I even want to remember it was getting cold with the window open and his hair was all rumpled and still a bit damp under my cheek and his nails were digging into my arse a little, and I want to remember how unbelievably good his big fat cock felt inside me, and the smell of his hair and his skin and how rough his breathing was, and he didn’t do this to break a curse or anything like it, he did it because more than anything he wanted to fuck me and break me in and make me his.  _ He rode up and down the thick shaft until his knees and thighs ached and he still couldn’t stop while it felt like this. Geralt was thrusting up into him and panting hoarsely.

“Hold still, I’m moving us,” Geralt grunted. He lifted Jaskier, holding him tight against his body, and dropped him onto his back, rolling forward to cover him and kiss him and thrust roughly into him while Jaskier arched his back and dug his heels into the bed and gave himself up completely. He came helplessly, eyes wide, gasping and half-laughing for joy. After that he lay in an indulgent afterglow, holding Geralt tight while he finished off with a flurry of erratic thrusts and a growling moan that reverberated through them both. Jaskier stroked his hair as he settled on top of him — which wouldn’t be tolerable for long but currently was the most rapturously pleasant form of being squashed flat in the world — with a deep, gusty sigh. Geralt was so utterly relaxed and so quiet that after a few moments Jaskier began to worry that he had immediately fallen asleep and he was trapped under him, and admittedly “He was gradually crushed to death with an extremely good dick in his arse” would in some ways be a  _ characteristic _ way for him to depart the mortal coil but it wasn’t really the legend he wanted to leave behind him. Also it would presumably upset Geralt to wake up and discover his corpse. Jaskier was just making up his mind whether to shake his shoulder or pinch his bum when Geralt lifted his head, kissed him and mumbled “All right?”

“I’m incredibly happy but I don’t want to be a pressed flower. Can you get off? You’re lovely but you weigh a ton.”

Geralt rolled them onto their sides as a sort of compromise, still pinned together, and pulled the quilt up before settling again. 

_ He wants to sleep inside me,  _ Jaskier thought, with his heart melting. He had to pull one of his legs out from under Geralt’s weight with a bit of a jerk, but he kept the other one wrapped over his hip, and snuggled into his chest. He lay in Geralt’s arms, feeling the quilt grow warm as their shared sweat dried on their bodies, feeling Geralt’s heart beat and his chest rise and fall with deep, gentle breaths, feeling his softened cock still snugly inside his bottom. It was messier than he liked to sleep, but it probably made sense that someone who got covered in nameless ichor as often as Geralt did wouldn’t see this level of goopiness as uncomfortable. He could talk to him about it in the morning. There would be a lot to talk about in the morning. Even  _ Geralt _ would agree that there were things to talk about in the morning, and they were going to be such  _ good _ things that he couldn’t wait. He was surrounded and filled by warmth from someone who definitely loved him, for his own personal value of “I love you,” and he could feel sleep gradually, deliciously overcoming him. 

He woke up with sunshine on his face; he could see it red through his eyelids. His bottom was a  _ little _ sore but totally tolerable, and every other part of his body was utterly contented. He couldn’t feel Geralt, though, and he rolled over reaching out an arm for him. The rest of the bed was empty. His eyes blinked open and he looked at the tangled sheets in dismay. The thought that Geralt had just got up and left as if last night didn’t matter was just making his eyes sting and his chest hurt and lyrics for an extremely sad and plaintive lament about the man who did him wrong pop into his head, when the mattress behind him dipped and creaked and he rolled back to find Geralt was sitting on the side of the bed putting his boots on. Jaskier sat up and slapped the nearest available part of Geralt, which was the shoulder he belatedly realised was probably still sore, but whatever, and exclaimed, “Are you just going to sneak out and leave me without even a word of goodbye?”

Geralt looked up, only mildly surprised, and said, “No, I was letting you sleep until it’s time to say goodbye.”

“Why is goodbye necessary? You can stay with me. I’ve got enough money for this room for at least one more night, probably more if the tips are good today. Then I’ve got an engagement at a baron’s son’s wedding, you could come with me —”

“There are things I have to do. A job I’m travelling for. This whole curse business has taken me out of my way, and it took me a few days to find you. I have to get back to it, I took a down-payment,” Geralt said patiently, doing up laces. 

“At — at least stay for breakfast,” Jaskier bargained. 

“I already ate,” said Geralt. “You’re a heavy sleeper. I thought the door might wake you up when I went downstairs and came back, but no.” He sat up straight and turned to look at Jaskier properly. “There’s something I need to say to you, though, before I go. Do you want to hear it?”

“Well, it had better be good,” said Jaskier, feeling very crestfallen. So Geralt was going to be all business after all. He’d said that things between them had changed for good, but presumably that was just the orgasms talking. 

“All right,” said Geralt, and surprised him by hitching himself closer and taking his hand, then looking earnestly into his eyes. “I want to apologise for the way I treated you on the mountain. I was upset and angry about other things, and I took it out on you, and it wasn’t fair. I didn’t really mean what I said. I’m sorry.”

Jaskier stared at him, feeling uncharacteristically speechless. His face felt hot and his eyes were prickling again and he would feel like such a fool if he actually started to cry because Geralt was saying exactly what he wanted him to say. 

Geralt was frowning now. It looked like he thought his sweet little speech wasn’t going down well. “So… I hope you can forgive me, and we can be friends again. Because you are my friend.”

Jaskier lunged forward and hugged him tightly. “Do you honestly, can you seriously, think I haven’t already forgiven you for that?”

Geralt closed his arms around him, his hands warm on Jaskier’s bare back. “I know you have, but I thought it would be nice for you if I said it.”

“It was incredibly nice. You planned that all out for me.”

“I had another part planned if you needed some more. Do you want to hear that too?”

“Yes! Encore!” He sat back to be able to see Geralt’s face again, beaming in anticipation. 

“You get on my nerves sometimes,” Geralt said, an unpromising beginning, “because we have such different temperaments and outlooks. We can’t help that. You’re… a ray of sunshine, and I’m… dark. You’ve kept trying to be my friend, no matter how difficult I made it, until I went too far and pushed you away, and I’ve regretted it ever since. You’re important to me and I’ve missed you.”

“Then why in heaven’s name did it take a fuck-or-die curse to get you to come and talk to me? You could have done that any time!”

“I didn’t think I had any right to. I was ashamed of myself.”

“You were stubborn.”

“I was stubborn too,” Geralt said, with a small nod. 

“It’s just such a crappy reason for such a good thing. I’m  _ not _ going to say I’m grateful to this creepy mage for bringing us back together, because he had the worst sort of motives and didn’t deserve  _ any _ of the gratification he presumably got out of the whole thing, but I’m glad about what happened, anyway. I’m so glad I have you back, and we’re closer than we were before.”

“I wouldn’t spit on him if he was on fire, but I’m glad too.”

Jaskier hugged him again, breathing in the smell of his hair and the side of his neck. “I still can’t get over you thinking of all those lovely things to say to me. You even put in a simile. A  _ flattering _ simile. Oh my goodness, it’s multi-layered. The ray of sunshine gets the little flower to open up. Geralt, that’s really  _ good,  _ it’s a bit pervy if we retain the arsehole element but it’s good.”

“You read that part in,” said Geralt, sounding embarrassed. “I don’t want you to call me a little flower.”

Jaskier laughed. “Not even chamomile?”

“Not even chamomile.”

“But you’ll know that now I’ll be thinking it. I’ll still do songs about you being a big bad sexy white wolf, obviously, but I’ll be  _ thinking _ ‘my little chamomile flower wants his ray of sunshine.’ The ray of sunshine doubles as a metaphor for my dick.”

“You’re just ruining it now,” said Geralt, continuing to hug him. “I regret everything.”

“I’m getting on your nerves, aren’t I.” 

“Like no one else can.”

Jaskier kissed him to make up for it a little, then again because he thought he could have enjoyed the first kiss more, then again because he’d been right. “Am I going to see you again? Like this year? Or will I have to track you down? I’m not as good at that as you are but I have a nose for news, and you tend to make news.”

“You’re going to see me again,” Geralt said. “I actually thought — well, after I finish this job. I could look for you again. It won’t take that long. I would look forward to that.”

“So will I.”

“Goodbye until then, Jaskier.” He kissed him one more time and got up to leave.

Happiness over all that, as well as a sentimental enjoyment of missing Geralt, carried Jaskier through the next little while on a cloud. The night of the new moon did give him pause — in fact, his anxiety over whether the curse was actually completely gone gave him a mildly upset tummy, but there was no sign of a flux, bloody or otherwise, and in the morning he knew everything was fine. He certainly hoped the same was true for Geralt. He played the wedding, and had a nice time with a bridesmaid, and went on to stay a few weeks at the house of one of the guests, a nobleman who apparently knew absolutely nothing about his reputation and thus paid him to give music lessons to his daughter. He left the daughter completely untouched (she was far too young to appeal to him and rather spoiled too) and instead had an enjoyable affair with her much older brother, who had nice curly hair and puppy-dog eyes and was evidently almost choked with suppressed lust that he was too shy to express until Jaskier coaxed it out of him in a quiet corner of the manor library; he expressed it first with ardent words and then with knee-trembling up-against-a-shelf buggery so that was a great success. When it was time to move on, because the daughter was tired of music lessons and had been very whiny about it, he had a nice heavy little purse to take with him and no particular place to go, so he set out into the wide world to see where it would take him. 

On a fine hot afternoon he was sitting on a log at a crossroads where the last ride he hitched had dropped him off, picking out a few possible phrases for a new song on his lute until the next ride should come by, when he heard hoofbeats just fading into audibility and looked up to see in the distance there was a horseman approaching at an easy walk. The horse was brown and the rider was in black, and just as they were close enough for Jaskier to be sure that that wasn’t a dirty white hood, it was dirty white  _ hair, _ he slung the lute onto his back and ran eagerly to meet them. This was a mistake; it was further than it had looked and by the time Roach ambled up to him he was bent over with his hands on his knees panting, red-faced and sweaty, not really fit to be seen but overwhelmingly glad to see Geralt, who was looking down at him with a faint, quizzical smile. 

“You could have waited for me to come to you,” he said, and swung down from the saddle.

“I’m not a waiter,” said Jaskier, which didn’t really make sense but he was in far too good of a mood to rethink it. He flung his arms around Geralt and kissed him, and Geralt kissed back and pulled him closer, and for a little while all he really cared about was lips and tongue and the smell of sweat and leather and road dust and big strong chest and arms and oh! a hand on his bum, until a damp, forceful snort by his ear indicated the horse was possibly taking slightly too close an interest in what they were up to. 

“Excuse us, Roach,” said Geralt, and grabbed his hand and led him off between the trees at the roadside. The woods were dim and green and cool compared with the glare and dust of the sunny road and for a moment Jaskier couldn’t see well and just had to concentrate on keeping up and not tripping over a root or walking into a tree. Then he walked into Geralt, which felt very like walking into a tree, but trees didn’t put their hands to your cheeks and kiss you like they wanted to eat you up and back you up against a trunk and boost you up so you could wrap your legs around them and keep kissing furiously while they held your arse and ground their erection against you. Trees very definitely did not do that. 

Geralt paused to breathe, his forehead pressed to Jaskier’s and his breath gusty and hot against his face. “I’m glad to see you,” he said. 

“Me too. I’m especially glad you’re alive, with your insides on the inside, and everything. You haven’t gone off me, either.”

“Nor you off me.”

“Won’t happen. Gosh, you’re hot. I don’t remember it properly when I’m not seeing you, I mean, I remember you’re really gorgeous but the  _ in-person _ effect is always a shock and a thrill,” Jaskier babbled. “I wouldn’t actually want to  _ be _ a girl, I don’t think it’d agree with me, except I do envy how they get wet and a lot of them wear skirts and don’t have to wear anything under them unless they want to so if I  _ was _ a girl you could be up me already. Have you ever not been able to stop talk— mmmph.” Geralt helped him shut up in a very practical way, kissing him deeply, and he sighed as their lips parted. “No, that wouldn’t be like you.”

“ _ This _ isn’t like me. Needing to grab you and not being able to wait.”

“Oh, that’s all right, I have that effect on people.”

“You never had that effect on me before.”

“That’s because you were resisting it. It’s charm, not mind control. But then of course you succumbed so now it’s fully effective. I’m sorry, Geralt, you’re just going to have to live with the fact that merely seeing me will give you a raging boner. The good part is, that’s how you affect me too so the boners will never be unrequited.”

Geralt looked as if he wanted to try to argue with that but didn’t know where to begin. “Anyway,” he said, “I thought you were going to be up  _ me.” _

“You’re not holding me like you thought that.”

“It’s muscle memory,” Geralt said sullenly. “That’s what I want.”

“Good, because I want to give you a lot of it. Maybe not right here, though. I’m not fancy but I’d like at least a blanket under us.”

“Good, because if we stay together for a while a blanket under us will be all I can offer you most of the time.”

“True, but on the other hand, we can pool our money and share a room more often. I’m pretty flush right now and I’d like to spoil you a little when I can. Here...” He reached between them to undo Geralt’s trousers and ease his cock out, then his own, holding them together. “The happy couple.” Geralt pressed in to kiss him hungrily, jaw and tongue working hard against his, as he rubbed them up and down, thinking gladly, even smugly,  _ I have so much more of this to look forward to now. Grumpy Geralt transforms into sweet horny Geralt just for me. I think I’ve got a feeling of what he was like when he was young… still far too serious about everything, but kind of a wolf puppy. And tonight, the weather’s nice, we can fuck in the open air under the stars… I hope his horse doesn’t watch us. _

As it turned out, she didn’t; she wandered a little way off in the meadow where they spread out the blanket while all the love-making was going on. Roach was discreet so they didn’t have to be, which was a good thing, because they really weren’t. Afterwards, Geralt rolled them up in the blanket together and spooned him; the warmth was almost suffocating on such a balmy night, but if he sneaked one leg out it was all right. 

“You felt a lot more confident this time,” he said. “I liked that. Have you been with someone else since me?”

“I’ve been busy,” Geralt said defensively, then, as if it was a concession, “I went to a bathhouse once.” 

“Good for you. Was it fun?”

“It was good enough. Not really any different from paying for it. You get it out of your system and it’s relaxing, I suppose.” He paused, then said, “I ended up mainly thinking of it as practice for you. It doesn’t bother you, then? If I went to a place like that, or a brothel?”

“Not at all. I think we’ll both be happiest if we agree we’re together when we’re together and single when we’re apart, don’t you?”

“I thought that was what you would say.” He sounded relieved. 

_ Just don’t get involved with any more mad witches who try to stuff genies up their fannies and make unnecessary personal remarks about my appearance and you’ll do fine,  _ Jaskier thought and didn’t say, which he considered quite wise and restrained, for him. “You don’t sound all that enthusiastic about it, though, so I guess they weren’t as good as me.” 

“That isn’t it,” said Geralt. “It’s not going to be the same with a stranger.”

“No, that’s true, when you get to know each other’s bodies and turn-offs and turn-ons it gets a lot more satisfying.”

“That isn’t it either. It matters, but it isn’t the difference I mean.” He kissed the back of Jaskier’s neck. “I’ve found it’s better with one who loves me.”

“Or cares for you or wishes you well?”

“No,” said Geralt. “One who loves me.” 

“You’re sure of yourself.”

“I’m sure of you. You said it yourself.” 

“I didn’t think you’d remember that.”

“Twice. Once out loud and once whispering.”

“I barely mouthed it!”

“I can hear better than you think, and I was very focused on you.”

“You didn’t say anything about it so I assumed you didn’t notice, or didn’t remember,” Jaskier said. 

“Or I was being a heartless, unemotional witcher,” Geralt suggested. 

“Oh, poppycock. You’ve got more emotions than you know what to do with. People say you don’t because it’s easier to be comfortable with a witcher going through everything he does if you think he’s not like a normal person. If you think he doesn’t  _ mind.  _ You don’t have to have any sympathy for him that way. I know you better than that. You can be insensitive, but I’m sure that’s due to an atrocious upbringing and a culture of machismo and things like that.” Jaskier paused, making up his mind to go there. “Like you’re being insensitive now, if you don’t realise or don’t care that if someone says he loves you, you’re not supposed to leave him hanging. I don’t mind if you say it in some kind of awkward face-saving way like ‘you are not unloved,’ but can’t you give me something? Or is ‘you’re my friend’ and ‘you’re important to me’ as far as you go?”  _ I’m going too far, why don’t I stop? I can feel him tensing up. He’s probably going to push me right out of the bedroll.  _

There was a long, dreadful pause, and then Geralt gathered him back into a crushing bear-hug. Next to Jaskier’s ear, he mumbled, “You are the least unloved person I know.” 

“Wow,” said Jaskier faintly, partly because he couldn’t breathe very well, but mainly with emotion. 

“Now go to sleep,” Geralt said, his arms relaxing. 

“I’m going to be writing a song in my head until I do.”

“Hmmm.” 

It was a very heartfelt song, but ultimately, not fit for public performance. 


	2. Honey, Roses, Buttercups

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A second part in which further feelings are caught.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this part I've used Geralt's point of view as well as Jaskier's, which was an iffy choice because I felt like I understood Jaskier quite well already whereas with Geralt I always have more of a sense that I'm making stuff up and the "real" version would not be as pleasing to me, but at least I like the version of him that I'm making up. He continues to want to be someone's hero, while also feeling fundamentally unfit for the role.  
> Minor content warning for an attempted sexual assault.

Jaskier woke up feeling sore, simply because sleeping on a single blanket over grass always made him wake up feeling sore, mostly in the shoulders and hips. He didn’t like being dewy (other than his complexion) and generally felt that people had invented Indoors for a very good reason. He’d chosen the life of a wandering minstrel and overall the rewards were worth it but beds, beds were such a good idea. It was not quite dawn; the sky was pale.

At least he wasn’t cold as well as stiff, because it had been a mild night and because Geralt was so very warm. He was still faithfully curled around him, breathing lightly against the nape of his neck. Jaskier was surprised to be awake first. Whenever they’d camped together before Geralt was the early riser. Was it such a big difference that this time they were together-together? More likely it was just a fluke and tomorrow morning Geralt would be up before him and he’d wake to the smell of a fire kindling and a gruff suggestion that he make himself useful and fetch some water. Even new loved-up Geralt probably wasn’t the type to bring you a cup of tea in bed. 

On the other hand, he was the type whose morning glory prodded you gently in the back and gave rise to Thoughts.

Probably  _ not  _ the sort you should try to wake up with a gentle blowjob, unless you wanted to get your head suddenly trapped between his thighs because you’d startled him. He’d like to give Geralt that treat sometimes but he wasn’t going to introduce it as a surprise. Instead he wriggled up and down a bit to get things aligned, reached between his thighs and guided Geralt’s cock forward to rest between them. Then it was simply a matter of gently squeezing and rocking and enjoying how the sound and pace of Geralt’s breathing changed until he woke with a soft grunt and a deep exhalation and began to grind against him purposefully. 

“Good morning,” said Jaskier brightly. 

“Grhhrrrmm,” said Geralt, feeling around between his legs till he got a comfortable grip of his cock and began to stroke it. His hand was warm and strong and he had just learned the way Jaskier liked to use his thumb and forefinger under the head of his cock; even still half asleep he was getting it quite nicely. He nuzzled into the join between Jaskier’s neck and shoulder and licked the skin wetly. 

“Oooh… that’s so good… we can make a habit of this. Whoever wakes up first starts, hmm?”

“Any oil left?”

“I think so. There…” He found the bottle on the grass and passed it back to Geralt, who fumbled around between them and spread some on his inner thighs before resuming his rubbing between them and stroking Jaskier’s cock with a slippery hand. 

“That makes it better.”

“Oh, it does…”

“I want to put it in.” His voice was still heavy and drowsy, coming from deep in his chest. 

“You swing back and forth, don’t you?”

“Hmm?”

“Last night you were so needy.  _ Fuck _ me, Jaskier,” he said in his closest approach to Geralt’s throaty rumble. 

“Do you want it?”

“Mmm… try. I’m pretty relaxed first thing, so — ooh, okay, slow down. I  _ wish _ you could just push it in like that. The-ere… oh, yes… Geralt, slow  _ down, _ I need a moment.”

“Sorry,” Geralt mumbled. 

“Pushing like a rutting ram. You’re not going to be happy if you give me a sore bum first thing in the morning, I’ll be in a foul mood all day. Give it some more oil, please.”

“Mmhmm.” Slick fingers slid up and down the cleft and rubbed the soft little pucker.

“You do realise you have a  _ big _ dick, right? That’s why it feels so good,  _ once _ I am ready.”

“Too modest to say.” Geralt sounded amused.

“Bullshit. Ooh…  _ now _ we’re getting there. O-oh…” He panted a little as they eased past the point of discomfort and the feeling of pressure and fullness grew into pleasure. Somehow he’d never happened to be able to watch the sun rise while having sex, and here he was today. There was always something new; that was the whole wandering minstrel appeal. It was a beautiful, rosy dawn — not red enough to worry shepherds or sailors, just sweetly blushing, and Geralt was rubbing his stiff, tingling cock and breathing wolfishly on the back of his neck and thrusting, slowly, with great consideration but such controlled power that his hips lifted and moved Jaskier’s with each stroke. He’d always had a bit of a thing for big strong men, and he’d known Geralt for  _ years _ and knew he was an ox, so it shouldn’t feel so surprising, but still, he was impressed. Such a nice day already. 

The sun peeped shyly over the horizon, and its light gradually swelled and glowed along with the building throb inside him until all of a sudden it was up; Jaskier thought for a second he’d seen a green flash. It would have been so nice and poetic to come at the same time but he needed a bit more stimulation, and got to a shuddering peak perhaps a minute later, with Geralt close behind him. He lay back against him, breathing hard, feeling a sweet rush through his whole body that left him limp and placid. Geralt sighed and kissed his shoulder, and grew still. 

“We shouldn’t make a habit of it,” he mumbled after a while.

“Why not?”

“Not first thing in the morning. Now I want to go back to sleep.”

“Really? I feel refreshed. I mean, refreshed but very sweaty. Ugh, this blanket.” He pushed it back, eased himself off Geralt’s cock, and rolled onto his tummy, propped up on his elbows to look around. The world was bright and fresh. The meadow spread out around them and descended in a gentle slope to a broad bend of a lazily flowing river. Little birds were kicking up a ruckus. Everything looked lovely. “What a view, eh?” he asked Geralt. “The open road. The world blooming into summer. Not a cloud in the sky and your boyfriend’s pert little bum upturned to the morning sunshine.”

Geralt gave a kind of appreciative snort and sat up, pushing his hair back from his face and yawning. “You see the world differently than I do.” He glanced back at Jaskier and elaborated, “It’s nice.”

“Well, yeah, I imagine you see it mostly in terms of threats to counter and problems to solve, don’t you?” Jaskier asked, swinging his feet in the air. 

“It’s what you learn,” Geralt agreed. 

“So I’m lying here feeling comfy and well-fucked and thinking how nice everything is, and you’re seeing, what, all sorts of hazards that I’m not?”

“No, everything really does seem peaceful. Doesn’t mean it’ll last, but… it’s nice. When I’m with you, I think more about whether things are nice, not just not a threat.”

“Because  _ I _ am so nice,” said Jaskier contentedly. 

“Because you always think about your own enjoyment,” said Geralt. “Not altogether in a bad way. You want to share what you enjoy, after all. If I don’t want to be constantly surprised, confused and annoyed about whatever you decide to do next, I need to think about it. That way at least I can anticipate some of what you’ll do and be prepared.”

“So you still think of it as if it’s a threat or a problem to deal with.”

“It’s… a good problem to have.” Geralt looked as if he was turning an idea around in his mind like a man carrying an awkwardly shaped piece of furniture through a hallway and trying to get it out the front door. “I mean,  _ I  _ would never suddenly dart off the path without explanation because I’ve just seen a big chicken of the woods and I want to bring it back and boast for the next half-hour about what a delicacy it is and how lucky it is that I happened to be watching a butterfly that led my eye in the right direction to spot it. I didn’t know what had got into you.”

“And we had it for dinner, and it was delicious, so there,” said Jaskier. 

“Yes, that’s my point. Your ways can be confusing and annoying but they can also bring in good things. It’s also useful for poultices on infected wounds.”

“Which neither of us has right now, I’m glad to say. Are you smiling to yourself about not having infected wounds?”

“No, about you boasting to me about what you’d found and basically begging me to praise you. It’s… cute,” said Geralt, who had quite possibly never had occasion to pronounce the word “cute” in his life to date. He said it like it was the only word he knew in another language, that his language didn’t have a word for. “So anyway, I pay attention to nice things when I’m with you so I can anticipate what you might rush off after. Colourful clothes, pretty flowers, anyone remotely attractive, free food…”

“You like free food too.”

“That’s true.”

“And I will happily share my pretty flowers with you, also my pretty people, if you and they are comfortable with that. So once again, I bring you good things and you’ve nothing to complain of.”

“Yes, it almost makes up for the time you decided to show me how you could do a running flip up the side of a tree, kicked in a beehive, got stung, I had to pick you up and run from the swarm, and then pick stings out of you while you cried about your face swelling up.”

“That was years ago,” Jaskier said with dignity, “and I have matured. Besides, people talk about beestung lips when they mean pretty and pouty, but I can tell you an actual beestung lip is one of the most painful things I’ve ever felt. And I looked like hell for days. And at the time I thought you were brutally unsympathetic, but you  _ did  _ pick me up and run, and you  _ did  _ pick out the stings, and you did mash up those leaves which brought down the swelling quite a lot. By your lights of the time you were really pretty caring. So thank you. Several years later.”

“Yes, I thought you were an ungrateful little shit, but you’re now welcome.” Geralt looked over at him, then glanced away. “I don’t just try to anticipate what you might do because it’s annoying when you take me by surprise or get yourself into trouble. I do it because, as you’ve probably already worked out, I’ll always take care of you.”

“Geralt!” Jaskier exclaimed, eyes shining. 

“If you’re with me I’m responsible for you, that’s all.”

“Shut up, don’t downplay it, I’m giving you a hug.” He did, and followed up with a kiss. “And I’ll take care of you, specifically in the ways you don’t take care of yourself.”

“Rubbing chamomile on me.”

“Yeah, among other things.”

They had a cold but reasonably effective wash in the river before getting dressed and addressing the business of the day. Geralt had always had a tendency to look askance at how long it took Jaskier to get ready in the morning, particularly when he required hot water for shaving and propped up a little mirror for the purpose. He couldn’t see his whole face in it at once but it was good enough for camping. 

“You don’t have to do that every day,” Geralt said, watching him while he drank his tea. “It doesn’t make any difference to me.”

“How dare you assume I’m only making myself look handsome for  _ you, _ ” said Jaskier, pulling a face to get the indentation under his lower lip. “There’s a whole world of people with eyes.”

“You don’t need to be clean-shaven to look handsome.”

“Very nice of you to say,” said Jaskier, wiping his razor and moving to the upper lip, “but the thing is, you suit a bit of scruff, and I don’t. It comes in wispy and makes me look adolescent. If I ever did commit myself to a moustache or a beard I’d have to shut myself away for three weeks or so to get it presentable before I unveiled it to the public.” He surveyed Geralt, who looked reasonably well scrubbed for him. His shirt was dirty and badly mended, his boots were scuffed and his trousers were in danger of going at the knees, but he’d combed his hair, so he’d made an effort. “You know, I’m never sure how much of all this is an aesthetic  _ choice _ . It works, but how much of that is luck? Also, if you don’t like to keep up regular shaving, why don’t  _ you  _ have a beard? Oh my gosh, you would look amazing. Do it. Just a short, clipped beard, emphasising your already incredible jawline, everyone would be fainting and calling you Daddy.”

“That’s a reason not to do it,” said Geralt, “and it takes you so long to shave because you talk the entire time.”

“Of course I talk; you’re here and I like to talk to you.”

“Have you ever considered comfortably sharing a companionable silence? It’s really quite intimate.”

“You’ve got Roach for that.” However, he finished off his shaving quickly and quietly; he was feeling very pleased at how much Geralt actually was just… chatting to him, trying to explain himself, giving him a certain amount of shit, certainly, but he was fairly sure that was an expression of affection.  _ Apparently all I had to do was fuck him and boom, emotional availability. (Or more likely various things have been happening and changing and working on him that I wasn’t around to see, that brought him round to the point where he was eventually ready to open up to me a bit, and yes clearly the physical intimacy helped coax him, but it’s much funnier to pretend I just have a magic dick.) _

They had a quick, not particularly tasty breakfast and packed up camp. 

“So where to?” Jaskier asked, hitching his bag up on his shoulder. “Are you on a contract, quest, mission, rampage perhaps? Can I help?”

“I’m going to a convent,” said Geralt. 

“Unexpected, but explain.”

“I need to check on a girl I left there a few years ago.”

“I take it this girl has a story that explains how she came to be dropped off at a convent by a witcher, and which you’re going to tell me?”

“Yes, but you’re not going to like it.”

“Bit of a nasty one?” Jaskier said, increasingly curious. 

“Nasty,” said Geralt, swinging himself up into the saddle, “is putting it mildly.” He leaned down and held out his arm. “Come on.”

“I thought I was going to walk.”

“It’s a long way.”

“Not that I’m complaining,” Jaskier said, hopping up behind him. “Only too happy to ride with you.” When was the last time he’d ridden behind Geralt? Probably that horrible day that he still didn’t remember very well, with the djinn and Yennefer and her weird spooky sex party that nobody seemed to be enjoying and feeling as if he was going to die and that sad elf doctor and a house collapsing on Geralt who somehow was all right and possibly caused the collapse screwing Yennefer? He really hadn’t taken it in. Well, now he could establish a nice clear pleasant memory of riding with Geralt and leaning on his broad, warm back while he told him a story. Much better. 

It was a spectacularly nasty story, the kind where you kept thinking you’d heard the worst of it and then nearly everyone involved turned out to have found yet another way to be a truly terrible person.

“So to summarise, this poor girl was conceived through incest and because of a curse put on her mother by an old creep who was obsessed with her she spent her entire childhood being a grotesque monster that ate people, and now she’s got to learn how to be a person from nuns?” he asked incredulously. 

“Nuns are people,” Geralt pointed out. 

“Yes, obviously, but are they nice nuns? Is anyone ever just going to be nice to her?”

“They’re nice nuns, I know some of them personally.”

“Well, that’s something. This Merigold woman seems like a much more sensible sort of mage than some, too. Geralt? How did you feel about the other witcher dying? I know there aren’t many of you, and you’re the only one I’ve met.”

Geralt was quiet for a while, and Jaskier wondered if that had been one question too many. He bit down on the urge to ask again and waited. They were riding at a gentle pace between hedgerows thick with little pink and white dog roses, fragrant in the sun, everything around them was quite lovely and the man in front of him seemed to have turned into a solid block of gloom. 

“I didn’t feel anything much,” Geralt said eventually. “I didn’t know him. We don’t all know each other. I thought at first that he was probably a fraud, because mercenaries and treasure-seekers do sometimes claim to be witchers to impress people and then get into shit they can’t handle, and when I realised he’d been a real one I knew the situation was more serious than I had thought. And it seemed like a waste, and the world was a little worse off, but if you want to hear that I wept for him like a brother I can’t help you.”

“If you didn’t even know him I wouldn’t expect you to,” said Jaskier. “Don’t worry.”

“What do you think I’m worried about?”

“What I think of you.”

“I know what you think of me. You sing about it. Often, and at length.”

“Aha, no, I get it, you’re worried this sort of thing changes the rosy opinion of you I put into my early songs. Well, you needn’t. I never had that simple a view of you, I just pick and choose what makes the best song. It’s nothing like the whole of what I think about you. I couldn’t sum that up for the life of me. I think you’re a brave hero who deserves more appreciation. I think you tend to be grumpy and taciturn and could stand to be a bit more particular about your personal hygiene. I think you’re very guarded with your feelings, so you’ve probably had some bad disappointments in your life, but you’re very loyal and you want to be close to people if you can just find ones you can trust. I think you’re a bit weird and precious about your horse. I think a lot of people disgust you a lot of the time, but you still try to do right by them, because  _ someone  _ should be trying. I think you’re an outstandingly good fuck and probably my best friend. And you’re the sort of person who, faced with that nightmare of a situation you’ve just been telling me about, despite not really believing it would be possible, found a way to save the princess and give her a chance of some kind of worthwhile life. And that’s just scratching the surface.”

A little time passed; Roach walked on, birds sang, bees buzzed, Jaskier looked in every direction possible and finally glared directly into the back of Geralt’s head to try to compel him to answer. 

“Good to know,” Geralt said eventually. 

They arrived at the convent sometime after midday, a cloistered grey building on a hill. The ride had become a bit monotonous because Geralt had been very quiet, even by Geralt standards. He answered questions with monosyllables or less, depending on whether you counted “Hmmm” as a syllable. A few times Jaskier had semi-dozed off leaning on Geralt’s back and woken up when he began to slide off. In some ways it would have been easier to walk alongside because then he could have played a little music and sung to amuse himself, but he didn’t want to give up his prize spot with his arms around Geralt’s waist. Still, it reminded him of why he generally preferred to be a pedestrian or a passenger in something with seats.

He slid down from the saddle and stretched out his lower back and looked up at the convent; he could faintly hear a choir singing and he would rather have liked to hear them better. 

“Wait here,” Geralt said, without further explanation, and walked up the zigzag hill path towards the building. Roach huffed through her nose and moved away a little to crop the grass. 

“Well, I wish I could do that,” said Jaskier. He rummaged in her saddlebags and found the waterskin and had a drink, then sat down with his back against a tree and improvised a little tune for Roach. 

_ Roach, my dear, thank you for the ride, _

_ You have taken many odd things in stride, _

_ To you it’s all just par for the course, _

_ A day in the life of a witcher’s horse. _

“Nah, that’s a bit shit really, isn’t it?” he asked her. She whickered and flicked her ears. “Let me sing you this thing I’m working on about the golden dragon. I’d value your opinion.” 

It might have been about half an hour before Geralt came back. He had a small bundle under his arm and a stony expression. 

“Well, how was your princess?” Jaskier asked brightly. “Glad to see you?”

“She never sees me,” Geralt said with a brief shake of his head. “I just talk to the mother superior. She’s afraid of me, and I can’t blame her.”

“Why should she be afraid of the man who rescued her?”

“Because remember, I didn’t rescue her in some gentle, kindly way. I fought her for a whole night and neither of us held back. I didn’t know if she would kill me or I would have to kill her. It seems she still has the scar on her neck where I bit her.”

“Eesh,” said Jaskier, with a sympathetic wince (with a slight undercurrent of  _ unffff Geralt biting so fucking hot _ ).

“That doesn’t matter,” Geralt said, sitting down beside him and offering him the bundle. “They gave me some bread and honey, if you want some.”

“Thanks. But how do you mean it doesn’t matter?”

“I just come to find out how she’s doing. She speaks well now, and she’s learning to read and write. She likes gardening, interested in medicinal herbs. Works with the beehives too. Every so often her father sends for her, but she’s never agreed to go, and the nuns won’t make her.”

“I think that’s just as well, don’t you?” asked Jaskier, unwrapping the bundle and finding delightful-smelling little fresh manchet loaves and a squat earthenware jar sealed with wax. “I wouldn’t trust a man who got his sister pregnant around his daughter.”

“Exactly,” Geralt said. “Apparently she’s the image of her mother.”

“It’s a pity she doesn’t know someone cares about her as much as you do,” said Jaskier.

“The sisters love her. She has a pet rabbit. She’s doing better than I could have expected.” Geralt was looking straight ahead, his face impassive, but his voice was gloomy.

“Eat something,” said Jaskier, dropping a manchet in his lap. He got the lid off the jar with his pocket-knife and dipped a piece of bread in the honey to taste. “Oh, that’s very nice. Borage, I think. I wonder if she helped make it? It could be a sort of thank-you gift to you. Just because she’s scared doesn’t mean she’s not also grateful.”

“You don’t need to try to cheer me up, Jaskier,” said Geralt. “It’s like this every time.”

“Yes, and I’ll bet every time you hope she’ll want to come out and meet you. Maybe not run out and hug you and call you Uncle Gerry, but at least shake your hand.”

“I’m not in love with the girl. She’s not much more than a child. And  _ Uncle Gerry _ ?”

“Never suggested you were, but it’d be nice for you if she did, wouldn’t it? You could have the satisfaction of seeing for yourself that you did a good thing and she’s thriving. Not a terribly selfish thing to want, if you ask me.” He licked honey off his thumb. “Look, do you want me to try to get in to see her? Put in a good word for you?”

“Nuns are not known for letting wandering young men into their convents,” said Geralt dryly. 

“Naughty nuns are, but look, I’m a bard, a fellow musician. I heard their choir as I passed by and was moved by the divine harmonies. If they let me in to talk about it, I can certainly look around and see if I can see a young girl — what would she look like?”

“She has fair hair,” said Geralt, “and as I mentioned, a bite scar on her neck. Don’t do it. I don’t like lying to good women and she deserves peace and quiet. But I appreciate the offer.”

“Yeah, all right, it wasn’t my best ever plan. Besides, I’d probably get jumped by a novice having doubts about her vocation, or something like that.”

“Why exactly do you like telling me about how many women you bed?” Geralt took a large bite of bread and Jaskier tried not to stare at his mouth ( _ unf _ ).

“This one is only hypothetical. And I was going to resist her advances because I’m very interested in you right now. And I don’t have  _ much _ sense of self-preservation but I’ve always thought it would be a very bad idea to piss off a mother superior. Ordinary mothers are fierce enough, I can’t handle a superior one.” He gave Geralt a little twinkle of his eyes, hoping to get one back, but Geralt clearly still didn’t feel twinkly. At least he was showing an appetite. 

“You know,” Jaskier said, “I was thinking, I really shouldn’t have run to meet you yesterday. I should have stayed where I was, striking a sort of carelessly sexy pose while you approached. Then when you trotted up and said, let’s say, ‘What are you doing here, Jaskier?’ I would say, ‘Waiting for my next ride — and it looks like it’s  _ you _ .’” He pointed with both hands and winked heavily, and had the satisfaction of hearing Geralt make a smothered “hgrmpfff” sound in his nose that was clearly trying to be a laugh. 

“You see, it’s funny because I’m an enormous slut!”

“Stop it,” said Geralt, swallowing his bread with difficulty, but he was smiling despite himself. 

“Anyway, you’ve done right by this girl. You’ve found her a safe place to grow up, and you do keep checking up on her, and I hope one day she’ll feel prepared to say hello. Where to next?”

“There’s no plan at the moment,” said Geralt. “At these times I ride until I find something bad.”

“This is the problem with your job being to find bad things,” said Jaskier. “If I hope for a lovely, peaceful day, I’m hoping for you to be unable to earn any money.”

“A peaceful day with you could be worth the lost earnings,” said Geralt, and melted his heart by touching his hand where it rested on the grass, just covering it with his. “But then, a day with you is by its nature not peaceful.”

“You’re such a  _ bitch _ ,” Jaskier said with deep affection. “Anyway, if we find a town without finding anything bad, accommodations are on me. I’m relatively flush just now and I feel like spoiling you. Hot bath, good food, big bed, naked me, all the trimmings. Just accept it. Being a kept man’s  _ awesome, _ I do it whenever I can.”

As they travelled on Geralt remained sunk in thought. Jaskier seemed to accept it; he dismounted from Roach and walked alongside, playing a little something from time to time. Apparently once he’d laid you he developed the ability not to constantly seek your attention, which Geralt had to admit he’d misjudged; a major part of why he’d spent years keeping Jaskier at arm’s length was his expectation that if he gave in to temptation and let him get close he would never have any quiet time again, and he couldn’t be doing with that at all. 

At least Jaskier would be pleased to know that Geralt was mostly thinking about him. In the weeks since they broke the curse he had initially tried not to, because it was all too much to cope with, but nevertheless found he  _ wanted _ to think about the situation, as confusing and exhilarating and embarrassing as it was. 

Geralt found that people often perceived him fairly differently than he saw himself — heartless as opposed to pragmatic, sinister as opposed to actually fairly normal, or trying to be, dominant as opposed to a combination of being physically  _ big _ and having a burden of responsibility and a low tolerance for pleasantries and other time-wasting. People conflated being a person who took charge when it was necessary with being a person who  _ wanted _ to be in charge and took pleasure and satisfaction in it, personally as well as professionally. So there were certainly times when he’d acted like it, because he didn’t have the patience to explain himself and he wanted a bit of pleasure and relief and to at least be treated like someone wanted him, even if they just wanted their  _ idea _ of him or their fantasy of a big ruthless brute or he was paying them and they assumed that was what the customer wanted. 

And that got him a measure of what he wanted, at least the physical pleasure and relief and subsequent good sleep, and the unpleasant collateral of feeling misunderstood and alone at the same time was just what he expected in life. 

So he wasn’t dominant, but that didn’t mean he was submissive, both because it felt incredibly unsafe and because he did still want to be able to take the initiative and feel like a participant, not just a recipient. And he liked a woman to be on top of him because it was comfortable and it provided the best view and it usually felt better for her. Yennefer loved that, and to be fair, she was the dominant type but he felt he rose to meet her — or at least had, but he wouldn’t be surprised if she never spoke to him again, and he realised he’d brought that entirely on himself. It was no good to dwell on that. 

So he had fucked things all the way up with her, and then, whether because he couldn’t stop fucking things up once he had started or as some sort of drive for self-punishment, he had turned on Jaskier and driven him away. Now Jaskier had been able to forgive him, but then, he had only spoken cruelly to him and hurt his feelings, not seriously betrayed his trust as he had Yennefer’s. He emphatically did not want to fuck up again. 

And he  _ wasn’t  _ dominant but he definitely wasn’t submissive and consequently was having a lot of mental trouble with how much he turned out to want Jaskier on top of him and inside him and talking to him in a fairly commanding way.

Apart from calling him a bitch once today, which had surprised but not offended him, Jaskier hadn’t said or done anything to suggest he thought Geralt was putting himself in a woman’s place or that he was putting him there, nor that he thought there was anything weak or degrading about taking it — he had called that backward. There was nothing  _ coming from _ Jaskier to account for how uncomfortable he felt with what he wanted, so he could only blame himself. Jaskier had been nothing but enthusiastic, encouraging and accepting, which was  _ really _ throwing him off. He didn’t dislike being understood, as Jaskier had accused him, he just wasn’t used to it and it felt uncanny and unreliable. 

He didn’t know what it boiled down to. Jaskier probably had a point about what scared him, although he objected to calling it “scary.” That was another thing people didn’t understand, that just because you had no fear of violence or pain or ugliness didn’t mean nothing even made you  _ uncomfortable _ . 

The whole bathhouse experiment had been to try to settle for himself whether this was what he wanted from a  _ man  _ or from Jaskier specifically. He had felt extremely out of place, awkward and embarrassed going in, and sure his inexperience was going to be obvious, which had made him short-spoken, but he’d been made welcome and it helped that the whole thing was fairly anonymous. He’d established quite definitely that anal sex felt very,  _ very _ good for him regardless of who did it, but that no, it wasn’t exciting and alarming and overwhelming in the same way with someone else. That had taken care of that. He might do it again sometime and enjoy it, but he didn’t  _ want  _ it like he did from Jaskier, and being in love was the only explanation for that which fit. 

So here he was falling in love with someone totally unsuitable in terms of temperament, and struggling with the re-emergence of a level of horniness he hadn’t experienced since adolescence, though for a small mercy it wasn’t as constant now as it had been then. It was just far too easily triggered, including by things like Jaskier licking honey off his fingers. His own fingers; if he’d licked it off Geralt’s he would have lost any semblance of self-control, and that was alarming because if nothing else Geralt prided himself on his self-control. He didn’t want someone being able to reduce him to helpless desire, even if the someone was trusted and had gradually become increasingly dear to him. Jaskier seemed to be  _ enjoying  _ being in that state with him, which was another sign of their profound differences. 

He was still annoying, and chatty, and in love with himself. At least that  _ hadn’t  _ changed. The balance had just tipped, so that where once “Jaskier gets on my nerves and continually gets into shit I have to get him out of and won’t leave me alone yet constantly wants to tell me about everyone else he fucks” had firmly outweighed “Jaskier has pretty eyes and I can’t stop watching his hands and his lips and he doesn’t think I’m inhuman and he can be quite pleasant to have around in moderation” in his decision-making, now it was reversed. Also weights labelled “He fucked me and it was incredible and I need that again,” “I sleep so much better with him,” and “Thinking I had finally got rid of him was hollow and shitty and if he was gone again I’d miss him even more now” had been added to the scale. 

They arrived at a large village growing into a small town as the sunset faded from the sky, and Jaskier, who he had let back up behind him because his energy seemed to be flagging, perked up. He had been leaning against Geralt’s back talking in a desultory sort of way about an idea he had for an entertainment composed entirely of songs which together told a story (Geralt thought it sounded exhausting) but he sat up straight and started leaning around looking for inn signs. 

“If the place I remember is still in business, it’s got a sign with a fish in a bush,” he said, “and they’ll bring up a bath to your room and they make this grilled chicken thing with sort of a sticky sauce that I love. No, not that place, the landlord probably still wants to kick me in the balls. That was his stated intention eighteen months ago and he was a man with a long memory. There we are, the fishy bush.”

He seemed keen on his earlier intention to spoil Geralt, who was uncomfortable with the concept of spoiling in general but appreciative of a hot meal and a good drink, as the road had been particularly dusty over the last few miles. Jaskier kept ordering more and  _ gazing _ at him from across the table and seemed to be getting somewhat tipsy. At one point he got up, announced he was going outside for a pee, and as he passed put his hand on Geralt’s shoulder, leaned down and whispered by his ear, “I  _ really  _ want to suck your dick,” before casually wandering off. Geralt sat motionless, assuring himself that despite feeling electrified he had shown no outward reaction, other than under the table. 

_ Did he mean follow him out so he can do it? No, he left his lute on the bench so he probably expects me to stay put and look after her — it. _ The pulse in his groin was really not helping matters. Something Jaskier had remarked on last night was that it took Geralt a while to get a full erection, probably because of his slow heartbeat; it wasn’t yet embarrassingly big or hard and if he just breathed slowly and thought about other things, like  _ not _ Jaskier’s head between his legs and the urgent humming moaning sounds he made as he sucked and how soft his hair was when Geralt rested his hand on his head, he would be back to normal in a minute or two. So he haplessly thought about Jaskier’s lips and tongue on his cock and the way he rubbed his thighs and cupped his balls with those deft warm hands and looked up at him with those teasing eyes, and made it worse and worse. 

_ This isn’t like me. I feel like I’m going mad. Why am I enjoying it? _ _ I need to stop. I do want to go and find him now but it would be so obvious.  _

Jaskier came back looking very cheerful and sat down and asked him, “What’s up? You look furious.”

“Nothing. I was thinking.”

“Makes my head hurt too,” said Jaskier sympathetically. Apparently peeing had given him more ideas for his musical entertainment and he started describing them in detail. Geralt managed to concentrate on listening to him (he was unaccustomed to seriously listening to Jaskier going on about one of his big ideas, so it took focus) sufficiently that the erection mostly went away, although with a threat that it could be back any time. It tried to get the jump on him again when Jaskier, who was licking sauce off his fingers, noticed him watching and made mischievous sustained eye contact while sucking off the last trace. 

“Piss,” Geralt said, standing up abruptly, then “I need,” then an inarticulate angry noise as he turned and hurried off out through the back of the building. Jaskier had been going to laugh at him, his eyes were already laughing, and he couldn’t cope with that in public. 

Outside it was easier to clear his head, in part because they kept pigs back here, presumably to eat up any food scraps, and it was hard to keep thinking about sex with pigs present. He peed in the trench full of ashes and shit in the large outhouse and started back, but was delayed by a minor incident. Behind the corner of the inn there was a scuffling sound and a bump as of a body against the wooden wall, and a small voice said “Please.” It was a young girl’s voice and she was not pleading for something she  _ wanted.  _ Now he’d heard he had to look. 

The girl was pressed back against the wall with a young man drunkenly kissing her neck, trying to get his hand into the front of her dress and grope her breasts. She was plainly too scared to put up any kind of fight and was staring ahead of her white-faced, eyes flicking from side to side for some means of escape. When she saw Geralt stepping into view she jumped and flinched and looked no less frightened. The man looked up and said, “Fuck off.” 

“Is this man bothering you?” Geralt asked the girl. 

“It — it’s all right,” she said, eyes flickering between the two of them, visibly thinking that if she was going to be trapped with one of them it might be less bad if it was the smaller man. 

“It doesn’t look all right,” he said. “It looks like you’re going to vomit. I don’t blame you. The pigs over there smell better.” Predictably, the drunk let go of the girl and took a swipe at him. Geralt stepped back and he followed, trying again. That brought them clear of the inn wall, close to the pigsty, and Geralt sidestepped, grabbed the back of the man’s neck as he lunged forward and just guided him to crash his head against the corner fencepost. He slumped down and threw up a bit. That might have got the point across but Geralt liked to make sure. He wasn’t armed apart from a knife in his boot but there were resources handy. He hoisted the man up by his belt and suspended him with his upper body over the fence into the pigsty and his feet kicking the air. 

“Have you ever seen someone fall in a pigsty, and not get out?” he asked conversationally. “By morning, there’s practically nothing left.” The man threw up a bit more, which brought the pigs over to investigate. 

“Stop,” said the girl very faintly. Geralt pulled the man back to his feet. 

“Fuck off,” he said concisely, and the man staggered away down the other side of the building towards the street. 

The girl had come around the corner but was still sticking close to the wall. She was wearing an apron and he now recalled seeing her inside earlier. “Go on,” he said, nodding towards the back door. “I don’t want anything.”

She gave him a small, earnest nod, said “Thanks” and rushed inside. 

Geralt looked at the pigs grunting and snuffling at the beer vomit and reflected that “I don’t want anything” was very true; the whole experience had been more effectively antaphrodisiac than a bucket of ice water. Still, at the end at least she’d looked less scared of him. He didn’t feel like a brave hero who deserved more appreciation but he didn’t feel like another potential assailant in her eyes — or a monster. He gave her another minute to get where she was going and compose herself and then went back in. 

He shut the back door behind him, started down the corridor to the public bar, and heard Jaskier’s voice raised in an indignant diatribe. He stopped and shut his eyes and muttered “For fuck’s  _ sake _ .” Then he went on. 

Jaskier was standing in the middle of a loose circle of men, confronting one who was easily twice his width and emphasising his points with jabs of his forefinger in the air which would surely eventually collide with the other man’s chest and convert Jaskier’s status from “mouthy little squirt” to “group kicking target.”

“Who are you to say?” Jaskier demanded. “No one! You don’t know what you’re talking about! What people dunnunnerstand about witchers is they’re people! But oh, they’ve no feelings, that’s jus’ very bloody convenient when you don’t want to worry about the person who goes off into the dark forest to fight the big nasty thing you’re all too piss scared of, and what’s more you should pay them more! There isn’t a big rich Witcher Headquarters where they get all their stuff, they have to pay all their expenses out of pocket and the wear and tear on their pants alone is criminal! And they jus’ want someone to love, don’t we  _ all _ jus’ want someone to love? And,” he concluded, “yer ugly.”

The man rolled his shoulders meaningfully. Geralt cut through the crowd quickly and clapped his hand down on Jaskier’s shoulder. “Forgive him, he’s a half-wit,” he said to the room at large, pivoted Jaskier around, grabbed his other shoulder and marched him away. 

“I’m defending your honour,” Jaskier protested. 

“Do you want to get your lovely lute-playing fingers stamped on with hobnail boots? If not, don’t start shit on my behalf,” Geralt hissed, manoeuvring him back to their table. 

“They are rather lovely, aren’t they?” Jaskier asked, picking up his lute from the bench and giving it a twirl by the neck before holding it as if he was going to play. “Observe my skilful fingering,” he said, flourishing his fingers on the fretboard, then emphatically poking his other forefinger into the hole in the middle. He gave Geralt a big happy smile and Geralt simultaneously thought  _ He is an idiot  _ and  _ He is  _ my  _ idiot and I’m keeping him.  _

“You’re drunk,” he said, “and I’m taking you upstairs before you hurt yourself.”

“Not  _ that _ drunk,” Jaskier objected, “just squiffy,” but he let Geralt propel him away from the bar and up the stairs. They had only been up to their room before to drop their bags and the greater part of Geralt’s personal armoury, and Jaskier had asked the potboy for a bath to be brought up in about an hour. He was in there now, filling a wooden tub from a tall can of steaming water. 

“Excellent!” Jaskier cried. “A fine tip shall be yours, my boy! For my associate and I are truly filthy. Just  _ dirty _ , dirty boys.”

“All right, whatever,” said the youth, looking askance. “I just fill the bathtub.”

“And you’re filling it so well! No spills. Tell him he’s doing a good job, Geralt,” said Jaskier, turning round and then round again to find Geralt, who had gone to sit in a chair against the wall and pretend he was not there. Geralt gave the boy a shrug expressive of sympathy and resignation and the boy nodded back in understanding. 

“Music to fill a bath to,” Jaskier announced, and started playing a fast and complicated jig without apparent difficulty. 

“I’ve got one more of these to bring up,” the youth said, holding up the can, and slipped out of the room. Jaskier threw his lute onto the bed and himself onto Geralt’s lap, and kissed him. 

“Stop it,” Geralt growled. “You can’t tip him enough to put up with your nonsense.”

“Well, I can, actually,” said Jaskier, “plus you put up with it for free.” He combed his fingers into Geralt’s dusty hair and kissed him again, persuasively, and Geralt was just starting to give in when Jaskier bounced up and walked away and a moment later the door opened and the boy lugged in the final can. 

_ I didn’t hear anyone coming. I was feeling Jaskier’s arse. What’s the matter with me? _ Geralt thought.  _ Is this some kind of aftereffect of that curse? Can you catch horny idiot like the clap?  _ The boy had filled the bath and Jaskier was tipping him; from the elevation of his eyebrows the amount seemed to be a pleasant surprise, although not shockingly generous. 

“Thanks, sir,” he said. “If you need more hot water there’s a full kettle by the fire. Good night.”

“Good night,” said Jaskier, seeing him out; as he shut the door Geralt was rising and striding across the room so that at the moment the latch clicked his hands hit the wood on either side of Jaskier’s head, and when he quickly turned he kissed him hard, trying to get back  _ some  _ kind of control of the situation. Jaskier pushed up to him in delight and thrust his tongue between his lips — he was a messier kisser when he was drunk but it felt good — and for a few long moments Geralt pressed him against the door and lost himself in the warm slip and surge of his mouth. Jaskier shoved his hand between his legs and groped his cock through his trousers, and pulled back from the kiss to say, “Remember what I’m going to do?”

“No,” said Geralt. 

“You forgot?”

“No.” He kissed Jaskier again and started unbuttoning his pants. 

“Oh, you’re doing something for me? Lucky me.” His face was flushed and his eyes were bright, and he clearly took whatever Geralt wanted to do as his due. 

“You don’t deserve this for embarrassing me down there,” Geralt said. He pushed Jaskier’s pants down from his hips and held his cock as he kissed him again; it was stiff and warm and pushing against his palm. 

“Mmm, no, I do, I deserve so much. Maybe I also deserve a smacked bottom, but you don’t seem like that type.”

_ I’m not a type, _ Geralt thought indignantly. He gave Jaskier another forceful kiss and then knelt in front of him. Before he could dwell on his inexperience giving what he liked to receive, he took Jaskier’s cock in his hand and sucked the tip, glaring up at him. 

Jaskier gave a kind of startled blurt of laughter. “Am I getting an angry blowjob? Oh, yes please… just don’t bite it, please, Mr Wolf. Oh…” His eyes were getting hazy and he leaned heavily against the door, stroking Geralt’s hair with both hands. He pulled out the tie that held the top half of it back and moaned sweetly. Geralt breathed in and tried drawing him in deeper. The reminder not to bite had made him self-conscious about his teeth, and knowing from his own side how it should  _ feel  _ didn’t mean he knew exactly how to make it feel that way. The thought of what he was doing was making his heart thump deeper in his chest, though, and his cock was stiffening. His face felt hot and his lips were tingling.

“This is…  _ not _ a criticism of your technique,” Jaskier panted, “but this is the first time you’ve done this for me. Is it the first time you’ve  _ done _ this?”

“Hrmmm.”

“I’ll make sure to enjoy it  _ extra  _ then. You’ve got… the right idea… Geralt, you realise if this is what I get for embarrassing you I’m going to do it  _ all the time? _ You’re so mad at me and you’re sucking me so nicely!” He shut his eyes, biting his lower lip, with his hips twitching. “You know what feels good now? Rub the shaft up and down at the same time. That’s it, you know it, it’s just remembering it all at the same time, right? Soon it’ll feel completely natural. I’ll help you practise till it does. I promise.”

_ I bet you will. I’m training you to be more of a pest than you already were. I still want to do it. _ Jaskier was gazing down at him again, his eyes looking dark with dilation, his face flushed and avid with desire, and it felt powerful to be able to move him like this. He tried a deep, throaty hum and Jaskier gasped and grabbed a handful of his hair.

“Oh, fuck! Give me more of that!”

“Hmmm?”

“ _ Yes. _ S-so do you want me to come in your mouth? Or you can catch it in your hand, just — just think of something fast, I’m — fff…”

Geralt sucked and hummed deeply, and hoped that made his point as he held Jaskier’s gaze, until his eyes widened and then scrunched closed and he cried out in joy, the head of his cock pulsing against Geralt’s tongue and filling his mouth with pungent salt.

“Ohhh…” His legs buckled and he slid down the door a bit, stopping himself with both hands on Geralt’s shoulders. “You should be proud,” Jaskier said, panting lightly. “I hope you enjoyed it something like I do. I  _ still _ want to blow you, you know. The bathwater should stay hot long enough to do that first. What do you think?”

Geralt got to his feet and kissed Jaskier’s soft mouth. He did feel proud, mixed in with the kind of humiliated pleasure that ran through all of this. Proud to be humiliated? But if he felt humiliated why did it feel powerful too? He needed to think more about why he had  _ wanted _ so much to get down on his knees for this. Giving oral sex to women was so different, you had to be more subtle and patient. He’d loved that too, but it seemed to be in a different category of emotions. He wanted to do it, for the right partner, because he knew the woman would enjoy it, probably more so than the kind of pleasure he could give through penetration, and he wanted to see and feel and taste her reaction. He wanted  _ that _ part with Jaskier too, but there was this other part that was just different and he couldn’t account for it and wasn’t sure he should enjoy it if he didn’t understand it. 

He actually  _ thought _ all of this much later, because just at that moment he didn’t think about anything much except how good the kissing felt, with a small amount of attention reserved for not tripping and falling while Jaskier was walking him backwards to the bed and pushing him to sit down on the side and kneeling in front of him and undoing his pants so that it felt like one smooth flow of things that couldn’t stop. 

“You’ve got  _ very _ hard sucking me,” said Jaskier, “I approve.” He gazed up at Geralt adoringly, slowly licking up and down the shaft before drawing him in to suck with his eyes closed; he looked blissful and passionate and Geralt couldn’t make his mind up if that was all real or a kind of show for his benefit, not faked but exaggerated. That seemed like a Jaskier kind of thing to do, to perform but mean it too.  _ I should say something. He wants me to, doesn’t he? Before I can’t think of anything to say.  _

“I couldn’t stop imagining you doing that before,” he said, and stroked Jaskier’s hair as his head glided up and down. “When you went off — couldn’t stop. Wasn’t  _ angry  _ when you got back, I was trying to control myself.”

Jaskier opened his eyes to look up at him exultantly and hummed softly. 

“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

A run up and down the scale that rushed straight up his spine. 

“You’re a difficult little bastard, Jaskier.”

“Mmhmm, mmhmm.”

It was quite a snug room and the steam from the bath made it feel hot. He tugged loose the neck of his shirt and pulled it off over his head, pushing back his tumbled hair as he dropped the shirt. Jaskier was watching him with wide eyes now; he must have seen something he liked. The intensity of the eye contact was getting a little too much, and Geralt lay back on the bed, still stroking Jaskier’s hair and his neck with one hand. Everything he’d imagined was happening and he sank into the heat of it with a deep sigh. This was the part where he would allow himself to be extremely spoiled. He couldn’t ever take for granted this kind of pleasure and comfort at the end of a day, feeling known and wanted and, less emotionally but no less intensely, feeling Jaskier’s fingers massage a sensitive area just in behind his balls, putting indirect pressure on the same area that felt so fiercely good under direct touch. He couldn’t even complain about the fingering joke earlier because he really did it incredibly well. Sometimes he felt the lute-string calluses on his fingertips, but Jaskier’s hands were far smoother and softer than his. 

The pleasure was both rising and deepening, and his breath came fast and ragged, and he was unconsciously lifting and rocking his hips. He came with a deep grunt of satisfaction and lay panting, gazing at the ceiling, with Jaskier gently stroking his belly and thighs. 

“I know I’m fishing for compliments, but I make you feel  _ really _ good, don’t I?” Jaskier murmured after a minute or two. 

“Of course you do. I was trying to tell you. That’s  _ why _ I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

“I am extremely pleased with the concept of you sitting there with a  _ massive _ throbbing erection just by virtue of one whispered saucy sentence.”

“I have to find a way to retaliate. Maybe I’ll just wait for the next time you’re trying to talk to a queen or something and then squeeze your arse.”

“You don’t know I won’t just say, ‘Excuse me, your majesty, this glorious side of beef can’t keep his hands off me.’” Jaskier gave him a friendly pat on the thigh and got up. He began to undress, still talking companionably, and Geralt lifted his head to watch him. “And that scenario assumes you’ll come to more royal shindigs with me. I would really like that. I promise you, last time was an outlier, they  _ very _ seldom go like that.”

“I’m not going to talk about that now.” Geralt sat up and rested his knees on his elbows. 

“No, but look, you’re an even better bodyguard if you’re actually, you know, heavily involved with my body. They’re a narrow-minded lot and instead of appreciating my tremendous sexual versatility they’ll just think ‘He’s a bumboy, clearly my wife had an affair with a  _ different  _ bard with brown hair and blue eyes named after a small yellow flower, I’ll break  _ his _ kneecaps.’”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, “I really don’t enjoy you talking to me about all the women you fuck, and I don’t understand why you do it.”

Jaskier paused with his pants draped over his arm. “Well,” he said, “it always used to be to try to make you jealous. Mixed up with ‘I don’t care if you don’t want me, I’m always up Milfgaard, look how much I don’t care.’ Under the circumstances, I suppose I could stop now.” He threw his clothes onto the chair. “I used to feel like destiny was having a laugh. ‘Hey Jaskier, here’s the hottest man alive, he’ll make your dick hard and your heart soft in equal measure, and he doesn’t want to talk to you.’ Sorry if I acted a bit desperate.” He dipped his hand in the bathwater to test the temperature and then stepped in and slid down with a sigh.

“I am clearly not the hottest man alive,” said Geralt. “You always exaggerate.”

“Now  _ you’re _ fishing for compliments,” said Jaskier. “Obviously I haven’t checked all the men. I allow for the possibility that there’s one hotter than you but  _ I _ haven’t seen him, and I get around. As if you’ve never heard it before, anyway.”

“I honestly have not.” Not in those terms, anyway, plenty of people had had nice things to say about his looks or shown their appreciation non-verbally (those that didn’t make it clear they found him unnatural and repulsive — being a witcher was nothing if not polarising), but only Jaskier showered him with that sort of hyperbole, and he felt like messing with him about it.

“Poppycock,” said Jaskier cheerfully. 

“Is there any point in arguing about it?”

“No. Could you get me my soap? It’s in my bag. And the shampoo, it’s the green bottle.”

“All right.” Geralt stood up, decided there was no point in keeping his pants on now, and sat down again to take his boots off so he could get them off too. “In a minute.”

“I’ll soak till then. I wish this tub was big enough for both of us, but we’ll make do.” Jaskier lay sunk in the tub and when Geralt stood up, naked now, gave a wolf-whistle. 

“Enough,” said Geralt, although he had rather enjoyed it. He dug through Jaskier’s bag and found the soap and shampoo, among other things. “You carry so much  _ stuff _ to make you smell good.”

“Well, yeah, have you smelled me without it?”

“Not yet.” He brought them over to Jaskier. “Maybe I’d like to.”

“Come on,” said Jaskier, apparently darting back in his thoughts to earlier, “you know you’re gorgeous. No one pulls their shirt off and shakes out their hair like that without knowing how it looks.”

“I was just taking my shirt off,” Geralt said, going back to sit on the edge of the bed. That was actually true; he’d been appreciating Jaskier’s performance and not thinking of giving one of his own. 

“Well, now you know I want to see a lot more sexy shirt-taking-off and hair-shaking-out. Consider also sensuously rubbing your chest. Don’t smile and shake your head, I actually mean it.”

“You can rub my chest. I’ll enjoy that more.”

“Okay, now, the small smile and twinkle in your eye, that works, that very much works,” Jaskier said, scrubbing under his arms. “Tell me, what do I do that sends a surge through you? Other than whispering about your dick on my way to the loo.”

“You…  _ look _ at me.”

“Oh, come on.”

“That does it. And you smile.”

“How did you remain so incredibly unmoved by my looks and smiles all those years, then?”

Geralt shrugged. “Stubbornness. The fact that when you yield once you can’t change things back.”

“What, like you didn’t want to spoil our friendship or something? That doesn’t sound like you.” He got up to soap his lower half. 

“No, like I had a feeling I would be like this, and I would feel weak and helpless, and humiliated.”

“You’re feeling weak and helpless?” Jaskier asked, wrinkling his nose. 

“No, I was wrong about that part. Look, you know that horrible song you sing about the gorgeous garrotter? All those horrible songs about being totally at someone’s mercy once you fall for them? I thought that’s how it would feel. I mean, horrible. It’s not.”

“I’m going to take that as you not liking that  _ genre _ of songs and not a judgement of my particular song,” Jaskier said haughtily. “And I’m still not sure what the hell you mean.”

“I can’t explain it when I don’t understand it. I don’t know why I tried,” Geralt said, exasperated. 

“ _ Because  _ you want me to understand you and you’re trying to open up. You’re just not very good at it yet. Keep going and you’ll get better.”

“I didn’t want to need you. That’s as close as I can get.”

“But needing me isn’t the mortifying ordeal you expected?”

“No. It’s… nice?”

“This is so uncomplimentary to me,” Jaskier said with a laugh, sitting back down. 

“Why? I’m saying I thought I’d hate it and I don’t.”

“Like telling a cook, ‘I thought this pie would taste like shit but it doesn’t.’”

“What? No! Look, I’m trying to say I didn’t want to eat the pie because then I wouldn’t be able to do anything  _ but _ eat the pie and the pie would take over my life and — fuck.” He subsided in frustration, confusion and embarrassment; Jaskier was laughing helplessly. 

“I’m the pie, right?” he said, wiping his eyes. 

“Fucking pie metaphors,” Geralt muttered. 

“I must be a  _ delicious  _ pie. Tasty filling.”

“You’re not a pie and I regret ever talking about this.”

“No, come on, please, I’ll try to stop giggling. So I mean — pardon me if I’m misunderstanding through the layers of golden, flaky metaphorical pastry — you decided you weren’t going to let yourself respond to me because then you’d fall hopelessly in love with me and it would consume your life?”

“ _ No. _ It isn’t like that.” Jaskier would be insufferable if he thought it was, and it was only a little bit. 

“If you ever work out what it  _ is  _ like I would love to hear it. But look — you didn’t have any hesitation like that about Yennefer, did you?”

“She and you are very different. She’s a lot more… complicated. And I obviously didn’t make a wise choice there, so let’s drop it.”

“Yeah, that’s all right,” said Jaskier. “It’s not that important of a question anyway. You like me now, you don’t appear to be suffering, and if you’ll pass me a towel you can get in here before the water’s cold.”

The water was still reasonably warm, and scented now with Jaskier’s soap and shampoo, lemon and rosemary. “I’m going to smell like you,” Geralt pointed out as he lowered himself in. “Thought you might like that.”

“Oh, I will,” said Jaskier from under his towel, drying off his hair. “Thorough wash, now. All major crevices cleaned.” He popped out from under the towel with pink cheeks and hair going in all directions, and finger-combed it into some kind of array. “Crevices, sounds terrible. And while you do that, I will ensure we have everything within arm’s reach of the bed for a smooth and comfortable fuckfest, because I’m thoughtful like that.” He continued talking more or less unstoppably while Geralt was ducking his head under the water, washing his hair and ducking again, so he missed most of it and resurfaced with the impression he had just heard the tail end of a question without being sure what it was. 

Jaskier was lying comfortably on the bed, on his front with his chin resting on his folded arms, watching him. 

“What was that?” Geralt asked. 

“Just checking. I assume you want me on top again?”

“Is that all right?”

“Of course it’s all right. I’m pretty equally happy either way, in general, but with you I’ve got a little preference for it because I enjoy  _ your _ enjoyment so much. We could just agree that unless I ask for something different — or you do, being a switcher, haha — that’s what we’ll normally do. So you can expect it.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“I’m sure. You’ve officially got permission to have what you want. It’s not selfish, it’s not lazy, it’s not disappointing me, or whatever it is that you look worried that it is. Oh, and it doesn’t make you ‘the girl,’ although I hope neither of us would treat an actual girl like she was somehow beneath us because she did us the tremendous favour of letting us inside her. Okay, yes, she could be literally beneath us, but we could always roll over, right? So in conclusion, status based on sexual position preference, total rubbish, end of problem, Geralt relaxes and has a nice time, happily ever after the end.”

“I didn’t say I thought it made me the girl,” Geralt said defensively, returning to washing himself. 

“No, but sorry, just about every man I’ve had who’d only been with women before worried about that. One even said ‘But I’m taller than you, so shouldn’t I…’ and then fortunately realised how daft that sounded and laughed. I worried about it too. Exactly once, for about three minutes, then I was good.”

“Of course,” Geralt muttered. 

“Anyway, you are honestly not like any girl  _ I _ know. I do know a few who are the same about their horses and one who wears as much black but there it ends. How do you get your blacks to stay so black, by the way? Mine have always gone rusty or green or grey within a few washes.”

“Trade secret. And you don’t wear black.”

“Not any more, but I had a moody phase. Before you knew me. You didn’t miss much. Did you ever have a colourful phase?”

“No.” That was one of the dumber questions Jaskier had ever asked him. He also couldn’t imagine a moody black-clad Jaskier. Even when he moped or sulked, and ye gods, could he mope and sulk, he was bright, like a sour cherry.

“No, I knew you didn’t really. Hey, when you’re ready to get out, can you stand up  _ slowly?  _ I’d enjoy that.”

“Slowly.”

“Yes.” Jaskier was looking at him eagerly, nibbling at his lower lip.

“Not rubbing my chest?” he asked with a touch of sarcasm. He wasn’t even sure how to do that “sensuously,” but standing up slowly was well within range. 

“Nope, I’m just going to enjoy the water streaming down over your gorgeous body. You honestly don’t take enough advantage of how weak I am for you.” Jaskier had gone all dreamy-eyed now, leaning his head on his hand and trailing his fingers through his damp hair. The tender pink of his lip escaped from under the white edge of his teeth.

“Well, I’ll work on that,” Geralt assured him, feeling fairly weak himself. He rose and stood, slowly, holding Jaskier’s gaze. Jaskier’s expression shifted from the most soulful adoration through the most abject desire to a wicked grin of delight. 

“That was perfect,” he said, bouncing up onto his knees and throwing a towel at Geralt’s chest. “Dry off and get up here.” He flopped backwards onto the pillows. “I think, all right, I think this is going to be our best night together yet.”

“We’ve only had two nights together,” Geralt pointed out, towelling and trying to do so briskly but without unseemly haste.

“What — oh, okay, together-together. Yes, definitely.”

“Why would you compare them with any other nights?” Geralt asked, baffled. “There is no comparison.”

“I don’t know, I still enjoyed being  _ with _ you. Sitting by the fire at night, singing you a little love song, watching how the firelight kissed your skin… wondering if you were completely blind and deaf to romance, yes, that was the pits. At least I know now you were  _ thinking _ ‘damn it, he’s a tasty pastry but I mustn’t bite.’ Or words to that effect.”

“Sometimes I was thinking, ‘It’s actually nice to be with him when he isn’t trying so hard,’” Geralt said, dropping the towel and climbing onto the bed to lie beside him. 

“Want to taste the pie?” Jaskier asked, rolling towards him.

“Jaskier, if you call yourself a pie one more time, I will get dressed and leave.” It was a pretty hollow threat followed directly by a kiss, winding his arms around Jaskier’s body and pulling him close. Jaskier sighed softly, wrapped his arms around Geralt’s shoulders and pushed his thigh between his. They began with soft, light kisses that steadily deepened, Jaskier coaxing Geralt to use his tongue more playfully. He still seemed a little tipsy and inclined to laugh, but his laughs were soft, ticklish puffs of warmth that faded into hums and moans as Geralt began kissing his neck.

“Full permission to cover me in love-bites,” Jaskier sighed. “I want to look  _ trashy _ in the morning.” He ran his hand down over Geralt’s belly to hold his cock, and murmured, “And I want to hold you and feel you getting hard just for me, with your big… slow… hard…  _ pumps.” _ He started to giggle again and squeezed the thickening shaft. “I loved this morning. You were like a sleepy bear. All growling down my neck. Hey, if I was an animal what animal would I be?”

Geralt looked up, bewildered and impatient, particularly because the squeeze had felt so nice and Jaskier seemed to have gotten distracted. “Why are you asking me  _ now?” _

“Well, what?”

“I don’t fucking know, an otter or something.”

“I would be a terrific otter,” Jaskier said with a faraway look in his eyes.

“You’re weird, you do know that.”

“You’re the one who immediately decided I’d be an otter.”

“Do — do you still want to have sex or do you want to talk about being an otter, because I can only do one of those at a time.”

‘Oh no, I definitely want to have sex, I was just following up a thread of thought. Would you just stop and talk about otters with me if I wanted to, though?”

“Begrudgingly, yes.”  _ Why the fuck did I have to fall in love with someone this easily distracted?  _

“Wow, you’re really  _ nice. _ That is — that is tip-top nice boyfriend behaviour, that is a take-home-to-mother — ow! Or you can bite me, yes, you can bite me. Ooh,  _ fuck…” _ He shivered as Geralt left a light but definite imprint of his teeth at the base of his neck and then licked the spot to soothe it. That seemed to redirect him very effectively. He curled his fingers into Geralt’s hair and pulled his head up to kiss him much more aggressively, then pushed at his shoulder to roll him onto his back and clambered astride his body, sitting up to look down at him with his hands planted on Geralt’s chest. “Thanks for letting me feel like I rolled over someone I couldn’t shift one inch if he didn’t want to,” he said, then sank down to kiss him again, pushing his arms up over his head and then dragging his fingers down his flanks. He lifted his hips, reached between them and held his cock to Geralt’s, then returned to kissing as they ground their hips together. Geralt moaned gratefully and reached to grab Jaskier’s bottom, but his arms were pushed back up and held there.

“Don’t get distracted by my bum,” Jaskier said. “I know it’s very hard but try. You can squeeze it when I’m fucking you, not till then. Mmm…” His tongue rolled softly against Geralt’s and he brought his hands down to stroke his cheeks and his hair while the sweet friction built up between them. Geralt nipped his lower lip and was gratified to feel him swivel his hips more heavily. “I think you’re finding how you want to be,” Jaskier said. “Lie back comfortably and take it, but show some flickers of fire, eh?” He sat up again, stroking Geralt’s chest with both hands. “I’m going to give you the kind of massage that is maybe twenty percent getting you comfortably relaxed and aroused, eighty percent me getting to rub you and squeeze you all over.” He gave a rapid patta-pat-pat with both hands and reached for the oil. “Whoever grows almonds is doing so well out of our relationship,” he added, rubbing it between his hands. “But then, so am I.”

Geralt lay comfortably and watched him, feeling warmth grow wherever his slick, deft hands travelled. He spent a lot of time kneading at his chest, squeezing the pectoral muscles and pinching his nipples stiff and tender, then made his way down to his belly.

“You’re not perhaps ticklish here?” Jaskier asked. 

“No,” said Geralt, glad to disappoint him. “Sensitive, though.”

“That’s one of my weak spots too. Though it doesn’t feel weak on you, given how  _ firm _ you are. On the other hand, your arse is clearly a weak spot and that’s  _ very _ firm.” Jaskier dragged his fingertips down over his belly and back up, then smoothed his palms down to his hips and gripped the bones before circling round and round with his thumbs. It felt like things drew tight inside him and a bloom of heat rose up low in his pelvis. He puffed his cheeks and breathed out, bit his lip and breathed in sharply as Jaskier scooted back, hunched down and ran his tongue up from low on his belly to his navel. He exhaled again, slowly, holding very still. 

“Are you trying not to show a big reaction? Again?” Jaskier asked, sounding amused. “Get over that, my lovely, just let it out.” He nuzzled at the base of Geralt’s cock and laid a line of wet kisses up toward the tip. “Now, legs apart. That’s good. Often a big musclebound lad like you isn’t very flexible, but you have  _ nice _ loose hips.” He squeezed the underside of Geralt’s thighs and slid down to grip his buttocks. “ _ Yum. _ ” Geralt gave an unexpected smothered snort of laughter and clamped his lips together tightly. “What?”

“I don’t know,” Geralt said. “You. Don’t stop.”  _ Yum. What am I, the pie? No, I refuse to think about the pie. Stupid fucking pie.  _

He huffed out a breath, scratched an itch under his collarbone, then, with a very slight hesitation, rubbed his palm over his chest, slick and warm with oil. Jaskier gave him an adoring look and a further squeeze of the rump, like a reward. He was nicely warmed up now and it was easy to play up to that adoring look, even if he was making fun of Jaskier at least as much as he was flirting with him, stroking his chest and biting his lip. Jaskier seemed perfectly happy with that.

“Thank you,” he said in an exaggerated whisper. “Dreams coming true.” He re-oiled his hands and stroked the inner slopes of Geralt’s buttocks, pressing them apart with his thumbs. Geralt grunted faintly and tilted his hips. “Good?”

“Yes,” Geralt murmured with a soft hiss, and clutched at his chest. 

“I love seeing you melting into this. You like it when I play with your balls, don’t you?”

“Mmhmm.” Geralt closed his eyes as Jaskier cupped them and stroked them. 

“Even these look good.”

“Piss off, Jaskier,” Geralt said contentedly, moving his hand to his cock.

“I’m not exaggerating! I can’t stand dangly balls. Yours just sit nicely. Don’t hit me in the nose rubbing it.” He bent to kiss them, then softly lick. Geralt squirmed at the sudden surge of pleasure, but settled. 

“If you huff out your breath…” he said.

“Hhah?”

“Good. Keep going all over, like that…” It was warm and ticklish and the smooth strokes of Jaskier’s tongue kept soothing down the tickle just as his hot breath stirred it up again. He lifted his head again to watch and got captivated by Jaskier’s sweet, flushed face and his lovely light-blue eyes as he gently sucked his balls. He reached down to stroke his hair and the nape of his neck, the soft, short-cropped hair there — why did  _ that _ texture make him feel all weakly loving?

“Lift your legs more,” Jaskier murmured. “Bum in the air. Hands behind your knees, that’ll do it. Just look at you, offering it up.”

“Piss off, Jaskier.”

“Okay, do you know you’re smiling at the ceiling? You are looking outright happy.”

“Shut up and fuck me.”

“Rude,” said Jaskier, bending back down to lick again. He moved down the centre seam of the sac to work over the area just below, making his tongue firm, almost prodding, gliding downward. 

“Are you going on down?” He wasn’t expecting that. 

“I told you to have a really good wash for a reason. Unless you don’t want your hole licked?”

“Uh…”

“So no one’s done this for you?”

“No…” He felt mildly shocked, and rather stupid to be mildly shocked.

“I get to do another first on you! If you want it.”

“Keep going. I’ll tell you to stop. If...”

“Yeah, I think we both know you’re going to end up loving it and begging for it,” Jaskier said with a cocky confidence probably not unjustified. “Weak spot.” He nuzzled in again and his tongue felt like a little wet flame circling Geralt’s anus and pushed the breath clean out of him, making him pant raggedly. He had to shut his eyes; the position didn’t really let him get a good look at what Jaskier was doing anyway but he felt overwhelmed and blocking out one thing seemed like the best he could do. The sensation shifted through tingling, throbbing, melting, and from time to time Jaskier would ask him how he liked it and he tried to indicate, with less and less coherence, that he liked it very, very much. By the time Jaskier’s tongue was probing and flickering just inside him, and he had no idea how long that had been, he was trembling and moaning desperately. 

“This has been  _ very _ successful,” Jaskier said, pulling back, “but I think it’s time for satisfaction, don’t you?”

“Uh?” Geralt managed to say. A warm slick finger pushed into him and he grunted and huffed. 

“Oh yes, I've never felt you so ready,” Jaskier was saying, moving his finger, and it did feel extremely easy. Geralt felt him shifting his weight, oiling his cock and pressing it into the cleft of his buttocks, sliding up and down. 

“ _ Please _ ,” he said urgently. 

“Open your eyes,” said Jaskier. “It’s more fun that way. Open them and tell me what you want.”

When he did, he saw Jaskier’s face first, leaning over him with an eager, almost flustered expression that didn’t match the cocky tone of his voice; he looked as if he could barely control himself. “What do you want, love?” he asked softly. 

“Fuck me,” Geralt sighed, then, in the same spirit as the chest-rubbing, “Shove your big, hard cock up my arse and fuck me.”

Jaskier leaned down as if to kiss him but stopped just before their lips would touch. “Okay if I kiss you again?” he was asking when Geralt wrapped his arms around him and kissed him hard. There wasn’t any kind of aftertaste, in fact Jaskier’s face was smeared with sweet almond oil and that taste dominated. With Jaskier’s tongue in his mouth, he felt his cock prod and stretch and push deep into his core. There were a few imperfect strokes and some breathless “like that?” negotiations before they found the right angle and an astonishing feeling of sweet liquid heat started to grow in surges. He released his legs and grabbed Jaskier’s bottom with both hands and held on tight; Jaskier gasped and half-laughed and pushed a hand between them to rub his cock. Their thrusting quickly grew faster, almost frantic, and the pleasure forced his voice out of him as he came. 

Jaskier continued to pump into him joyfully until he tensed up, his hips stuttering, and relaxed with a deep grateful moan. He lay heavily on Geralt with his head hanging as he caught his breath, then lifted it to kiss him and stroked his hair, very delicately considering how vigorous all that had been. 

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he murmured, “but I really do love you.”

“What’s the wrong way to take that?”

“Thinking I want to settle down forever in a little cottage with roses round the door, or something.”

“I didn’t think that.”

“No, you know me better than that, thank goodness.” Jaskier lifted himself and slid back a bit so he could lie with his arms folded on Geralt’s chest and his chin resting on them, looking at him with dreamy heavy-lidded eyes. “But I mean… I do want to be with you for the long term in some way. And that’s new for me. I’ve loved lots and  _ lots _ of people but not quite the way I seem to love you. I don’t know if you feel anything like that, but I wanted to tell you.”

“Then you’ve changed your mind about being together when we’re together and single when we’re apart?” Geralt asked. He was sleepy now and suspected Jaskier was being confusing even if he had been wide awake. 

“No, that’s still true.”

“Make up your mind.” He stroked Jaskier’s back drowsily. 

“Just like… if we both mean we’ll always get back together again. That’ll be something to look forward to. Whether we set out to find each other or just bump into each other by chance. Again and again. Lots of… bumping.”

“I thought that was what you meant in the first place.”

“That’s nice.” Jaskier yawned, then rolled off him. “I’m going to have a quick clean-up, with probably very tepid water, then curl up to you.” He sat up and stretched his arms. “Also I might make a note of the date, just so I can remember when you gave your first blowjob and got your first rimjob on the same night.”

“Don’t do that,” Geralt said, his eyes drifting closed. 

“You can’t stop me remembering. You’re stuck with it.”

He was almost asleep, but not quite; he heard Jaskier moving around, water splashing, wood being added to the fireplace. It was very peaceful, like a memory he wasn’t quite sure he remembered, of being warm and safe and hearing quiet domestic things going on while he was falling asleep. He had just drifted off when Jaskier got into bed, pulled up the covers and ruthlessly kneed him in the leg until he rolled onto his side and made his back available for spooning. Then everything was warm, quiet and dark. 

Jaskier woke gradually, warm and slow. He could feel Geralt was lying close beside him; slow deep breathing and gentle heat radiating from his skin. There were sounds leaking in from outside, some birds, some sort of… villagey early-morning activities, but inside their room it was very quiet and still. He opened his eyes and found, fairly astonishingly, that Geralt had his head propped up on his hand and was watching him sleep. It made him smile and made Geralt look sheepish. 

“Are you just thinking how beautiful I am in my sleep?”

“I was thinking how nice and quiet you were,” Geralt said, rolling over. 

“No, you were gazing at me softly and sentimentally,” Jaskier said gleefully, and hugged his back and threw one leg over his hip for good measure. “You’re so smitten. I smit you. I smit the  _ hell  _ out of you.”

“You didn’t smite anything,” Geralt said, pulling Jaskier’s arm under his and gripping his hand.

“Smote your arse with my dick.” He smacked a kiss on Geralt’s shoulder. “Good morning. You look  _ great.” _

“Good morning.”

“You know, one day you’re going to break and compliment me, and I will revel in it.”

Geralt rolled back over, pinned him down on the pillows, and gave him a deep kiss. “There,” he said.

“That’s not a compliment, Geralt. It was nice. It did use your lips and tongue. It wasn’t a compliment because those involve words.”

“It gets the point across.”

“You don’t have to be poetic about it. I’m the poetic one.”

“Yes, that’s why you say things like ‘smote your arse with my dick.’”

“I’m just saying, don’t be intimidated by my way with words. Simple yet sincere is the way to go. You could just pick a feature to praise. I have rather nice eyes.”

“You don’t need me to tell you that,” Geralt pointed out, and kissed him again. He seemed to be in his more bullish morning mood, that or he was trying to get off the subject.

“Mmm, but it’s not about telling people things they don’t  _ know, _ you know you’re big and gorgeous and — you do  _ know _ this.”

“I know I’m big, and if you like how I look, that’s enough.”

“Okay, I think I just have to assume you’re doing a thing where you think it’s beneath you, or unmanly or something, to dwell on your looks.” Geralt ignored him and kissed his neck. “Because what kind of insecurities could someone who looks like  _ you _ have about his looks? ‘Oh,’” he said, dropping his voice into a growl, “‘I think my jaw is too chiselled. My eyes are too smoulderingly intense, and my lips are just on the cusp between cruel and tender which is a problem for some reason.’”

“Shut up,” said Geralt, nuzzling lower and nipping him. 

“And, like, you’ve never actually had to make an effort to impress people, or work out how to make the best of yourself. You presumably just showed up and took your shirt off and stood there exuding a slightly oniony musk and the rest followed.”

Geralt looked up. “Oniony.”

“Pleasantly oniony. With a hint of cinnamon. Cinnamonion.”

“Your compliments are something, Jaskier.”

“Well, I just woke up.” He stroked Geralt’s hair absently as he moved to kiss the base of his neck, sucking lightly. “I mean, I was making fun of you a bit, but only because sometimes I still can’t quite believe you’re true and I get silly about it. I really am just trying to say you’re beautiful to me.”

Without lifting his head, Geralt said to his neck, “Well, I tried last night. I told you about your smile, and the way you look at me.”

“What about my smile? Just — just elaborate a tiny bit.”

“It’s… I don’t know.”

“The way I look at you?”

“Like I’m exactly what you want to see.” Another kiss, kneading with his tongue. “Do you want me to say you have pretty blue eyes and… soft hair? You do.”

“I’ve noticed you playing with my hair.” Jaskier twined his fingers into Geralt’s hair, which was tangled and kinked after being slept on damp, beaming to himself.  _ Pretty blue eyes, I will take that. _ “Ow! Another bite?”

“You taste good.” A long, slow lick that made his back arch.

“Ohhhh holy shit your voice.”

“Hmmm,” Geralt said, with a very slight smirk.

“I mean, I use my voice  _ professionally, _ so please believe me that when you drop down all growly like that, it is  _ effective.” _

“More effective than taking off my shirt and smelling like an onion?” Geralt asked, propping himself up on his elbows, clearly thinking it was time to cut the sweetness with some salt. 

“Well, you can do both, you don’t need to choose.”

“You’ve imagined some bloody strange things about my life,” he went on, narrowing his eyes. 

“I just exercise artistic licence.”

“You don’t just exercise it, you exhaust it.”

“Well, you can tell me the story of your life or let me make it up, whichever you prefer.”

Geralt looked thoughtful. “I think I’ll let you make it up, as long as you don’t go committing me to things I don’t know about, like saying I swore an oath to do something inconvenient.”

“Geralt, your whole entire life’s work is doing something inconvenient.”

“I mean on top of that.”

“Oh right, an  _ additional  _ inconvenience, because you’re  _ used to _ trudging around enduring hardship and getting covered in guts, but if I put it about that you’ll also get cats out of trees, that’s excessive.”

“Yes, you get it.”

“And you don’t want to tell me the story of your life.”

“If there’s something you need to know I’ll let you know it.”

“Fair enough, same.”

“You and I have different ideas of ‘need to know.’ Yours is a great deal looser.”

“On the contrary, I’m very secretive. You don’t even know my real name.”

“I do, it’s Julian.”

“I don’t remember letting that slip. But you don’t know my  _ middle  _ name.”

“I do,” said Geralt wearily, “it’s Alfred.”

“I used to wonder if you even knew my name was Jaskier because you just kept calling me Bard.”

“If I’d called you by name you would have thought we were friends. I didn’t want to encourage you,” Geralt admitted. 

“Well,  _ that _ didn’t work,” said Jaskier smugly. 

“It didn’t stand a chance.”

“You seriously refused to use my name to let me know we weren’t friends? You petty bastard.”

“I considered calling you the wrong name sometimes to drive the point home but knowing you, you’d have decided I was just giving you a special nickname.”

“Wait, wait, does this mean you starting to call me Jaskier was you accepting we  _ were  _ friends?” he asked, delighted. 

“More like me surrendering to the inevitable fact that you weren’t going anywhere and I might as well.”

“Same difference.”

“I suppose so,” said Geralt, and went back to kissing him, returning to his mouth with deep, slow kisses, his jaw working lazily and his tongue stroking Jaskier’s. Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt’s neck and shoulders and drew him down to feel the press and the weight of his body, raising his legs on either side of his hips and gently rocking against him.  _ So so so good, warm soft bed and big strong man, total luxury. Hmm… maybe my definition of luxury has got a bit basic on the road. Like, slightly worn-out inn linen and a straw tick with who knows how many people’s bum dents in it? No silk sheets or featherbed? But Geralt’s definitely luxury quality. Luxury morning fuck. Luxury fuxury. That’s… probably not something I can use in a song but I like it. I will now enjoy some luxury fuxury.  _ He ran his hands down Geralt’s chest, under his belly, around to his back and over his buttocks. He stretched out his fingers and squeezed a firm, sleek double handful. Geralt grunted softly and gave a long, slow exhalation through his nose, his lips faltering for a moment. 

“Yeah?” Jaskier asked quietly. 

“Mmhmm.”

“Want me inside you again?” Curling his fingers, squeezing.

“Mmhmm.”

“Because it feels like I belong there now, right?”

“What?”

“You said that.”

“I don’t remember.”

“You were quite drowsy then, I guess. Good dick just puts you right to sleep.”

“It’s — soothing,” Geralt said with an evident effort, since Jaskier was now rubbing between his buttocks. 

“Yeah, maybe I shouldn’t do it in the morning. You were saying yesterday —”

“No, you can do it,” Geralt said quickly. 

“Oh, are you sure?” he asked, smiling. 

“If you fucking tease me,” Geralt began, sounding exasperated, so Jaskier stopped him quickly with a fresh kiss. 

“And there’s the limit and we won’t go over it again,” he said. “Let me out from under you and I’ll oil you up.” Geralt let him up and then lay down with a huff that made him want very badly to laugh.  _ I love a grump. That’s undeniably what he is, a big, stoic, handsome, secretly kind of soft but still definitely grumpy grump. I will hump the grump. I can’t use that in a song either. He keeps inspiring me in quite useless ways.  _ It was so endlessly satisfying to see Geralt melting into pleasure once again, lying on his front with bars of morning sunlight from the uncurtained window crossing his back and highlighting the shiny old scars, his deep breathing growing into moans under steady fingering, his big hands gripping the bottom sheet into bunches as Jaskier slid into him. 

“Want to call me by name?” he asked, rolling deeper in. “Since we are such  _ good _ friends now.”

“Ffff… Jaskier…”

“My lovely Geralt. Such a perfect arse. Deep and tight. Made for me.”

“Ja — Jaskier,” he repeated fervently, pushing his right hand under his belly.

“We really need to get deeper into your training, because I bet you can come from this without touching your cock at all.”

“Want to touch it.”

“Of course you should touch it, I can’t wait either.” He managed to go nice and slowly at first and really savour the slick squeeze of it, the way Geralt pushed back, the sounds he made and the glimpse of his flushed face that Jaskier had, turned sideways on the pillow and half-screened by his hair. Stroking faster now, panting, Geralt breathlessly repeating his name (so  _ sweet _ and thank heaven he hadn’t run off with the idea it was more intimate to call him Julian the way some people did after finding out), allowing himself the additional deep pleasure of saying “I love you, I love you so, you are the most glorious thing, I want you to feel that, oh  _ fuck _ I love you!” Then pumping hard, making Geralt groan aloud, his own voice rising and shaking, full of heat and joy. He came with a deep inner shudder, feeling the sweet rush and gush of it, and sank down to rest on Geralt’s back. His right arm was still moving jerkily as he tugged himself off, and his climax came with a grunt that Jaskier felt through his back. They lay bathed in sweat and floating in bliss, and Geralt reached awkwardly up and back with his left hand to rumple Jaskier’s hair. 

Jaskier pushed Geralt’s hair out of the way and kissed the back of his neck. “I like how you do that,” he said. “Feels like you’re praising me for doing a good job. Pat on the head.”

“Just want to touch you somehow,” Geralt sighed.

“We’re touching all over.”

“Hands feel different.”

“They do, don’t they?” He took Geralt’s hand in his own, interlaced their fingers and lay quietly holding it. After a while he asked, “What’s making you smile?”

“I’m happy,” Geralt said, with a very faint trace of defensiveness, though then the small smile widened. “And the fact we just did what we did, and now we’re holding hands like little innocent sweethearts.”

“Yeah, that’s a bit weird. But you know, don’t you, I’ll happily blow you, rim you or fuck you, but I’ll also hold your hand any time you like. I’m good like that. Versatile.”

“I don’t need my hand held. But thank you.”

“Everyone needs their hand held sometimes. Well-known fact. Even big hairy witchers.”

“I’m sure little hairy bards do.”

“I’m not little, I’m nearly as tall as you, I’m just slimmer. And less obviously hairy.”

“You go around flaunting your chest in your lacy open-necked shirts.”

“I’m pleased you noticed. It’s the delicacy of the lace next to the  _ hrrgghh _ of the chest hair that I think makes it effective.”

“It’s not  _ hrrgghh _ .”

“It’s at least  _ unf _ . Look, it says, a gentleman of taste and refinement, but also a nice bit of rough.”

“Thought you were going for ‘prettyboy’ more than ‘gentleman.’”

“You’re so rude to me, it’s a good thing I know it’s a big fat defence mechanism. You’re embarrassed because you think I’m  _ dreamy _ and it makes you  _ flustered. _ ”

“It’s hard to argue this point with someone who’s inside me,” Geralt admitted. 

“I’m so glad you accept that. And so glad you want me here.” He kissed Geralt’s neck again and put his head down on his shoulder, and lay quietly for a minute or so more. He felt very warm and full with love for Geralt, and he wanted to appreciate the depth of the feeling while it lasted. 

  
  


Finally Geralt stirred under him. “I want to get up now,” he said. 

“Not going back to sleep?”

“No, you countered that by being just slightly annoying before I could relax too much.”

“I’m doing so well today.” Jaskier dismounted and gave him a friendly slap on the bottom. “This is one of the best mornings I’ve had in ages. I feel sorry for the rest of the day, because that’s one tough act to follow.”

“Is there still some water in that kettle?” Geralt asked, practically. 

“Yes, we didn’t need it last night, so I’ll warm it up again.”

They weren’t yet used to getting ready  _ around _ each other in the way that you did when  _ together _ rather than just in the same place. The room was only provided with one washbasin so they had to take turns, and there wasn’t enough hot water for Jaskier to shave with. He looked disappointed about it, and was still only half-dressed, and Geralt decided to depart far enough from his general policy of not babying Jaskier in any way to offer to go downstairs and get more, since he was dressed. 

Jaskier gave him a look. “Are you sure you’re you? If you’re someone else in disguise as Geralt, he doesn’t do this sort of thing.”

“I’m me and you shouldn’t get used to it,” said Geralt, taking the empty kettle and leaving the room.

He went down the stairs and looked into the kitchen, where there was a pump and also a pan of mushrooms on the stove but no sign of anyone. He could hear raised voices down the corridor in the bar, and went towards them. 

There were a few travellers at tables with breakfast in front of them, either trying to ignore the current confrontation or openly watching for entertainment. In front of the bar itself the innkeeper, a small but wiry man, was glaring down the young man from last night, his appearance not much improved by a huge red bruise across the bridge of his nose and two very swollen black eyes. He was accompanied by a larger and considerably older man, who might have looked like him without the disfigurement.

The girl from last night was behind the bar, twisting a towel in her hands, and she shot him a look of mute appeal. 

“Your little bitch did that to my boy,” the larger man declared, “and you’ll hand her over.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, mate, so why don’t you just go back and tell me?” the innkeeper said in a professional tone finely modulated between keeping the peace and not taking any shit in his own bar. 

“She didn’t,” said Geralt, stepping forward. Bearing witness wasn’t really one of his strong points; people tended to regard a witcher’s word as inherently suspect but it was worth a try. 

“He did it!” the young man exclaimed, pointing at him. “That big scruffy bastard!”

“What the fuck did you want to say she did it for then?” his father demanded, slapping the back of his head. 

“I forgot till just now! Look at him! He’s one of those… things.” He snapped his fingers vaguely. Evidently the combination of a hangover and a recent head injury wasn’t helping him to think. 

“He didn’t either,” said the girl behind the bar suddenly and a bit breathlessly. Geralt looked at her. She was afraid but trying to help him. So he wasn’t going to make her look like a liar, although now he had to think a bit. 

“You don’t remember much, do you?” he asked the young man, then turned to his father. “Your son was manhandling this girl behind the house. She clearly didn’t want it so I told him to stop. He took a swing at me, missed and he stumbled and cracked his own head against a post. He’s talking shit because he’s embarrassed.”

“He — he was going to feed me to the pigs,” the young man protested. 

“You nearly  _ fell in  _ with the pigs staggering around and he pulled you back out,” the girl said. Her knuckles were still white gripping the towel but there was some colour back in her face. 

The young man and his father glared at Geralt suspiciously. Clearly they still both felt there should be someone to blame for this and it wasn’t meant to be them. It was a lot easier if it was someone who didn’t matter unless you had a use for them; unfortunately for them Geralt, while technically in that category, was harder to pick on than a girl smaller and younger than either of them. He looked back at them stonily and shifted his weight slightly but meaningfully. 

“Right,” said the innkeeper abruptly, “fuck off, the pair of you. You’re wasting my time. You’re barred, and if Rose has any more problems you can forget about your job with my cousin or anyone in his guild.”

Rose had turned away to tidy some mugs on a shelf behind the bar so Geralt couldn’t see her reaction to that, if she let herself have one, but he hoped she was pleased, at least relieved. The innkeeper wasn’t stupid; he hadn’t said something like “if you go near Rose again” that let the young man think he could get some of his mates to go after her. The thought of losing a job and becoming unemployable was probably a more effective deterrent than anything Geralt or the pigs might do. The way his mouth had dropped open made that clear.

Someone at a table began clapping and there were a few sarcastic cheers as father and son skulked out of the inn. 

“All right, Rose,” the innkeeper said quietly. 

“All right, thanks, Pa,” she said, still busy with the mugs. 

The innkeeper turned and looked at Geralt. “You get your breakfast free,” he said, “but I’ve got to charge you for the room. And we’re full up tonight.” He had the grace to add “Sorry” before going off out the front somewhere. 

Rose looked back over her shoulder and gave Geralt a small, tight, but hopeful smile before a smell reached her and she exclaimed “Shit! The mushrooms!” and flew out of the room. He followed her after a moment, saw that she was sufficiently occupied by rescuing her cooking and quietly filled his kettle from the pump before turning to go. 

“Wait.”

He turned back towards her. She was wiping her hands on her apron and looking at him uncertainly. 

“The old song says to toss a coin,” she said, “but I haven’t got any on me.”

“That’s all right,” he said. That bloody song. And she thought it was old, too. Did she realise it was about him in particular, or could he be any witcher? Probably better that way. 

“But is there anything else you want?” she asked. It didn’t sound like a come-on, and she was really too young for it to have been appealing if it were. “You should have a reward. Not just breakfast.”

“The reward,” he said, “is that you don’t look scared of me any more. That’s plenty.”

“Well,” she said, blushing a bit, “my brother told me about you and your friend, so I knew, you know, you weren’t…”

_ She’s not afraid of me because — I’m never telling Jaskier about this.  _ “No, good,” he said, and left. 

He shaved as well, because it had been several days and because Jaskier pestered him about wanting to try a smooth-faced kiss, and it turned out Jaskier’s scented shaving soap (for that use only, which struck him as typically extravagant) and little bone-handled razor provided a much closer shave than he was used to. 

“What do you shave with, one of your swords? Broken bottles perhaps?” Jaskier asked, packing up his things. 

“I use a knife. It’s sharp enough,” Geralt said, feeling his chin. It felt weirdly smooth, as if a layer of him was gone.

“It must drag your skin to hell, doesn’t this feel better?” Jaskier asked, stroking his cheek. 

“It’s all right.”

“Admit you like nice things.” He ran his thumb under the edge of Geralt’s lower lip, ticklishly. 

“I like nice things that you pay for and I don’t have to carry around.” 

“See, you do like being a kept man. Nonono, don’t bite my thumb, you animal.” He kissed him very softly. “See? All silky.”

“Breakfast,” Geralt said, rather than getting into any deeper discussion of silkiness, because that was going to undo all the progress they’d made in getting dressed. 

“Breakfast? Okay, breakfast,” Jaskier chirped. 

He looked askance at the heaped plate Rose put down in front of Geralt downstairs. 

“That is… a lot of food,” he said when she had walked away. 

“I’ve got room,” said Geralt, who found he had an unusually good appetite this morning.

“No, I bet you do — are those  _ tomato roses?  _ Why don’t I have tomato roses?”

“Have one of mine.” He passed it over on the point of his knife.

“When did you have time to seduce a tavern wench?”

“I haven’t seduced anyone,” Geralt said, cutting up his bacon. He planned to mix it up with fried mushrooms on a slice of bread.

“I think I’m going to pout about this,” Jaskier said, looking at the tomato rose dubiously.

“If you want to look like a baby go ahead.”

“You’re all calm and collected again.”

Geralt shrugged one shoulder, chewing. The bacon was fat and the mushrooms were tender and the bread was fresh, so life for now was good. “Eat your breakfast. We’ve lost half the morning.”

Putting aside his very mild vexation about the tomato roses and whatever they might signify (she was quite a plain girl and he didn’t think teenagers interested Geralt so probably nothing much), Jaskier was happy as they set off down the road. It was another fine day and they walked side by side, Geralt leading Roach to give her a rest. He didn’t attempt to hold Geralt’s hand but from time to time he thought about it with pleasure. He talked about places he’d been and things he’d seen (not so much who he’d seen them with) and Geralt appeared to be listening without minding much. After a while he fell quiet apart from a little light humming as he mentally reworked “The Most Beautiful.” He’d intended it to be sort of a melancholy, elegaic piece evoking the passing of ancient glories, but it was blending into a love song, possibly one of his better ones, and naturally enough when he was so in love just now. From time to time he turned to look at Geralt, enjoying how he looked in the sunshine (a bit squinty and out of his habitat, but very handsome) and Geralt met his gaze with an expression that was a bit difficult to read, but seemed generally warm. 

He remembered Geralt saying it was nice to be with him when he wasn’t trying too hard, and he didn’t feel like he was trying at all just now. He was pretty sure now that Geralt opened up most easily in  _ bed _ or in bed _ rooms; _ in any other environment he was more reserved, even when there was no one else around, as now. Except when he’d met him on the road the day before last, so there was a definite reunion effect that overrode the reserve. He remembered getting more or less dragged into the woods and felt up against a tree and wondered how he might elicit that reaction again. What would be just the right words to whisper in his ear? It was fun to consider, and he had all day to come up with them.

In the early afternoon they stopped at a point where the road ran close alongside the river and sat on the bank while Roach nibbled grass and he attempted to impress Geralt by showing him how he could tickle trout (something he had only recently got the hang of, hence not trying to show him before). The trout he lulled into a stupor and then scooped out of the water slapped him across the face with its tail and he nearly lost it, the fish trying to squirt out of his hands like a bar of wet soap until he trapped it by falling over with it under his chest. 

“I got it,” he said breathlessly.

“Just like an otter,” Geralt said dryly. 

They built a small fire and cooked the trout on a stick and had half each, and afterward he lay on the sloping bank with his arms folded under his head and looked up at the sky and felt things were idyllic. 

“We should get moving,” Geralt said, putting out the fire with river water. 

“No, come on and lie down beside me and look at clouds.” To his surprise and happiness, Geralt actually did, although he sighed as he did to make the point that this was frivolous and he was doing it only to oblige Jaskier.

“Might rain tonight,” Geralt said, folding his hands on his chest, “if the wind doesn’t shift.”

“Not like that. Look for shapes. See? That one’s shaped like a lion’s head. See the mane and the little ears?”

“That one looks like… the top of an oak tree,” Geralt said. 

“Well, that’s a bit basic. There’s a tower with a banner on top.”

“That one looks like a pile of snow,” said Geralt, obviously trying. 

“That one looks like a bunny rabbit.”

“Cottage cheese.”

“Aw, I love you just the way you are.”

“I can’t help feeling insulted.”

Jaskier rolled onto his front, propped himself up on his elbows and looked down at Geralt’s calm face. “You’re relaxing, aren’t you? With me.” He stretched out an arm, picked a buttercup and threaded its stem into Geralt’s hair. 

“Don’t do that,” said Geralt, not stopping him. 

“I’m just claiming you.” He added three more buttercups and a couple of pink and white clover flowers, and followed up with a soft kiss on his forehead. “All mine.”

“Are you still jealous about the tomato roses?”

“No! A little bit. No. Not seriously. She must just have had a crush on you, it happens all the time. I  _ like _ it when it happens to me, especially when there’s breakfast involved.”

“No, I don’t think she did.”

“So why were you the favourite?”

“When I went out for a piss last night I saw something.”

“Did  _ she _ see something while you had it out?” Jaskier asked, pretending to be prudish and shocked about it.

“No, some little shit had her pushed up against the wall of the house and was groping her. She looked terrified so I intervened.”

‘Ohhh, so you’re her knight in shining armour. That makes perfect sense. No wonder you got tomato roses  _ and _ two extra eggs.”

“She didn’t think I was a knight. She was scared of me too. It only started to turn towards gratitude when she felt sure I wasn’t just taking her from him for myself, and that was about three seconds before she went back inside.”

“Oh dear,” said Jaskier. “You don’t have the best luck with rescuing girls, do you? I mean, you  _ rescue _ them and they’re safe, which is the main part, but you miss out on the emotional reward. And I suppose you are a bit intimidating, looming out of the night. Did your intervention perhaps involve very precisely targeted violence?”

“He was so drunk I just let him hurt himself,” Geralt said. “All right, I did make sure he got a broken nose and a cracked head, and threatened him with being eaten alive by pigs.”

Jaskier laughed, and covered his mouth with his hand, and tried to be serious. It failed. “So you exercised restraint.”

“I suppose he might learn something from it. Not the right thing, not ‘leave girls the fuck alone because they have a right not to be violated,’ but at least ‘leave girls the fuck alone because you might be seen by a half-decent man who’s bigger than you.’”

“I think you’re at least three quarters decent,” said Jaskier.

“He came back this morning  _ to complain,” _ Geralt went on with evident contempt. “Blamed the girl for his injuries. He and his father were telling her father to ‘hand her over.’ I overheard while I was getting your shaving water,” he added. “When he saw me he suddenly remembered my role in the incident. Between us, Rose and I managed to make his story sound weak and stupid enough that he left with his tail between his legs, and I don’t think he’ll bother her again. So that was surprisingly satisfying.”

“Her name is  _ Rose _ and she gave you roses?  _ Edible _ roses? You’re dense, she definitely has a crush on you.”

“She was just saying thank you, in a practical way.”

“I am literally threading buttercups into your hair right now. Me. Whose name means  _ buttercup _ . I wouldn’t want you to miss that point.”

“I’m glad your name doesn’t mean  _ rock _ , then.”

“Just agree with me that once she was over her fright, this girl definitely thought she had a chance with you. It’s okay, I think it’s funny now. Go on.”

Geralt closed his eyes for a moment, frowning, then opened them and said, “Because you’re going to be really persistent and irritating about it if I don’t explain, first, the boy who filled the bath last night is Rose’s brother. Second, they talk. Third, because of the drunken way you were carrying on they are well aware we weren’t just sharing a room to save money and very definitely think I am only interested in men.” He was actually turning red with embarrassment, hopefully not anger, as he talked. 

Jaskier abandoned any effort not to laugh and did so quite helplessly. He had to bury his head in his arms. Geralt gave him a shove, without, he thought, any real rancour behind it. He wiped his eyes and got his breath back and said, “Well, what nice, open-minded, gossipy young people!”

“I felt like a fool,” Geralt muttered. 

“Why should you? Look, that was so mild. You haven’t even run into the people who think you’re gross and weird and you must want to be a woman and you’re not a Real Man and all the rest of it. Not that I wish that on you any time soon but it will come up sooner or later. You’ve got the advantage of looking like such a Real Man they may not figure it out at first. These are very simple-minded people who think everything’s got to be completely one thing or the other, and everyone’s got to fit into these rigid categories in their minds. The concept of versatility is lost on them. Morons.”

“I’m aware,” said Geralt.

“And I’ve got the advantage that I just fundamentally don’t give a shit what they think. I’m a man, I mostly like women, I sometimes like men, I have liked a few people who informed me confidentially they were neither or a bit of both. You’re a man, you mostly like women, you occasionally like men, you like me in particular. We’re both fine just as we are. You just need to get used to it and then you shouldn’t feel embarrassed any more.”

“I don’t feel embarrassed,” Geralt said. “And I’m accustomed to people thinking I’m ‘gross and weird.’”

“Well, yeah, but that’s for what you are on the outside. It isn’t for how you feel on the inside. So I’d think it lands a bit differently.” He paused, considering where to add another buttercup. “Geralt?”

“What?”

“You know I’m really happy that you’ll talk to me about how you feel, don’t you?”

“If I didn’t, you’d just pester it out of me.”

“I couldn’t pester it out of you for years, unless it was as an angry outburst. This is only because you’re willing to do it. You want me to understand. I want to remind you one more time, that’s special to me. I hope you keep doing it.”

Geralt exhaled slowly through his nose, looking rather fixedly at the clouds, then said, “This is one of the things that makes it most feel like I’m… being like a woman. Telling another man this type of thing. It’s not like confiding in a woman. Or Roach.”

“Well, you know that’s uptight bullshit really, don’t you?” Jaskier asked gently. He paused, wondering if it was time to lighten the mood a bit and let Geralt off the hook. “Of course, if it makes you feel better, you can always pretend I’m a horse.”

“I’m not pretending you’re a horse,” Geralt said, with the hint of a smile in his eyes.

“I’m a  _ stallion.”  _ He puffed his breath out between his lips and snorted.

“This is becoming weird, and I want to get back on the road.”

“Don’t want to camp here for the night? Swim in the river? Make love under the stars?”

“No, I’m pretty sure now it’s going to rain and we’ll want shelter. Unless you want to get stuck out in the open, we should move on.” He sat up and got to his feet, brushing the flowers out of his hair with one hand.

“Yeah, all right, good point.” Could he hope for another inn before nightfall? Camping out in the rain was one of the least attractive parts of life on the road, even if you had a tent, which Geralt didn’t. So the prospect now was a night under a bivouac of tree branches, which never kept all the rain out, rolled up in a blanket that really needed a wash or maybe to be burnt, with Geralt spooning him. Heaven help him, the Geralt spooning part made it seem worthwhile. He didn’t think he’d tell him that he still had a buttercup tucked into his hair tie. 

A couple of hours further down the road, Jaskier went off between some trees for a pee, got slightly turned around on his way back, almost tripped over a baby fawn curled up hiding while it waited for its mother, quietly died over how little and cute it was, debated bringing Geralt back here to see it, worried slightly that Geralt would be ruthlessly practical and say “dinner,” decided that actually this would be his personal special thing for the day that he didn’t have to share, felt glad that after all it was a baby fawn he’d stumbled on this time and not a starveling creature that a dickhead knight would chop to pieces in front of him, and eventually made his way back to the road to find that Geralt was talking to a man who had turned up from somewhere. 

It was the sort of negotiation he’d observed quite a few times, the man both deeply wary of Geralt and driven by a much bigger fear to overcome that wariness, Geralt giving nothing away, demanding details and calmly, implacably setting his price. He’d missed the start of it so he didn’t know exactly what kind of eldritch monstrosity Geralt was being hired to deal with, and they seemed to be winding up now, the man giving Geralt directions to a place up the road and Geralt agreeing to be there before nightfall, “when it wakes.” The man got back on the pony that had been making friends with Roach and rode away pretty briskly. 

“Good, you’re back. Did you have to dig a hole or something?” Geralt asked him. 

“No, I… got slightly lost. And contemplated Nature.”

“You should have shouted, I’d have heard you.”

“I would have, if I hadn’t managed perfectly well on my own, thanks. So! What’s the beast of the day? Is it something I’ve even heard of?”

“Can’t be sure,” said Geralt, turning to Roach and opening her saddlebags to inspect some equipment. “The description is vague — no one has got a good look at it and the way it hunts could be two or three things I can think of. I’ll see when I get there.”

“When we get there,” said Jaskier.

Geralt looked uncomfortable. “No.”

“What are you on about?”

“It’s dangerous.”

“Of course it’s dangerous. Everywhere’s dangerous. I don’t follow you about expecting picnics. Admittedly, we did have a picnic today, but obviously sooner or later it’s monsters. I’m used to it.”

“This is different,” Geralt said, transferring two or three small potion phials to his pockets.

“Why? You’re not even sure what it is. It might be a fairly basic monster. The sort of thing you slew as a beginner. I could help.”

“You’re not listening.”

“Well, you’re not explaining. You’ve clammed up again. Do you need to lie down? Getting horizontal really seems to help.”

“I think we should go different ways,” said Geralt. “Part company before we have time to get tired of each other, and then the next time we see each other will be… a treat.”

“What? No. You are not tired of me after two days, especially after last night and this morning. I was on excellent form.”

“I said before.”

“It takes at least a fortnight to get properly tired of me if you’re sleeping with me!”

“People make it that long?”

“There’s affectionate teasing and there’s meanness, and that one was mean.” Jaskier folded his arms, protecting his chest which was starting to hurt around the heart. “I can’t believe you’re dumping me again.”

“I’m not dumping you.”

“It really feels like it. Like you think you opened up too much, so now you have to push me way, way back.”

“That’s not it at all,” Geralt said, exasperated. “I’m surprised you don’t get it.”

“Well, I don’t, so tell me!”

“I can’t just take you into danger. I’d be too worried about you.”

“Oh, bull and also shit, Geralt. You don’t worry about me! I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself! I have all this time!”

“If you get hurt, I’m responsible now.”

“Why  _ now? _ ”

Geralt turned his back and stamped off round to the other side of Roach to rummage in the saddlebag there. 

“Oi, come back here and finish fighting with me.”

“Because,” Geralt said into the saddlebag, “I’ve let myself be in love with you now and the thought of you getting hurt because of me makes me want to throw up.”

“Whaaat?” That seemed so  _ dramatic. _

“Look, there was a time when I’d have been happy to see you get bitten or clawed if it meant you’d run away and leave me alone. Then I got attached to you and felt responsible for you, even before I really liked you. You know I’d never let anything happen to you, but there are things I can’t stop. Then I fucked everything up and missed you,  _ then _ you took me back and I let everything go and I can’t bring it back in. I’m at the mercy of my feelings. I fucking hate being forced into a choice but if I only have a choice between missing you every day and worrying about you every day, I will take missing you and being able to think at least you’re safe.”

“But…” Jaskier raised his hands and dropped them helplessly. “But anything can happen. I could get stabbed through a mattress by a jealous husband with a dagger. I could choke on a piece of gristle. I could fall downstairs and break my neck.”

“It’s just. Different,” said Geralt. “Those are dangers in  _ your  _ life, they belong to you, they aren’t dangers of  _ my _ life that shouldn’t affect you.”

“The very first time I went anywhere with you we got tied up and nearly murdered by insurgent elves! Didn’t put me off!”

“I didn’t want you there then and I don’t want you there now!” Geralt burst out, glaring at him over Roach’s back. 

“Maybe I should dump  _ you _ if you’re going to talk to me like that!”

“It’s for the opposite reason!”

“It’s a stupid reason! If I stay with you, you can keep an eye on me! There’s no one I’d trust more to protect me! And — and if you let me help, if you  _ teach _ me, right, I can be more useful, and — look, I can’t talk to you through a horse — ‘scuse me, Roach.” He ducked around her hindquarters and got swished by her tail. 

“You’re lucky she’s used to you or she might have kicked you,” Geralt said. 

“Well, she is used to me, and don’t pretend you worry about that. Let me help.”

Geralt held both his shoulders, crushing his puff sleeves. “Listen. You’re not a witcher. You can’t be one and I would never want you to have to be one. You’re a bard and you’re good at it. I want you to go off and sing, and tell stories, and seduce queens if that’s necessary, and be what I can look forward to when I find you again. I’ll always find you again. There is nowhere in this world you could go that I wouldn’t be able to track you down.”

“That’s… very sweet, if... a little predatory-sounding.”

“Yes, I could hear it when I said it,” Geralt admitted. “I was trying to be reassuring.”

“It’s just I only just _got_ you and now you’re taking yourself away _again_ ,” Jaskier said in a small voice. “And now I have to miss _you_ , way more than before because I’m missing all the parts of you that you finally gave me.”

“I’m sorry,” Geralt said. He put his hands to Jaskier’s cheeks and kissed him. “I know I’ve been stupid. I didn’t know how I’d feel and it’s too much for me.”

“I didn’t either. I thought it was going to be pretty easy. It  _ was _ pretty easy after the first time we got together, but now we’ve  _ said _ all these  _ things _ , and you lay there and let me put flowers in your hair and everything.” He took a deep breath. “Look, if it’s really important to you, I’ll let you go. I won’t follow you. Just — if you go off and get killed  _ now, _ especially if it’s by some very basic monster, I will never forgive you. If we get an afterlife, it will consist entirely of my ghost kicking your ghost around a room. With pointy rocks on the floor.”

“I promise not to get killed by a basic monster,” Geralt said, kissing him again.

“You don’t really promise that.”

“No, I don’t.” Geralt folded his arms around him and he put his head down on his shoulder.

“I promise not to get stabbed through a mattress by anyone’s husband,” Jaskier mumbled into Geralt’s neck.

“That was so detailed I wondered if it had actually happened to you.”

“I heard it happened to a professional rival. It only nicked him and he jumped out the window and got away clean, albeit naked.”

“Really try not to do that.”

“Mmhmm.”

They parted at the next crossroads, really only a fork in the road. After a long kiss and a brisk, sensible goodbye, Geralt got up on his horse and rode away in the direction of the unknown, possibly basic monster, and Jaskier walked on in the other direction, into the long summer twilight. He knew the area well enough, having passed through last summer too, and there were a few farms where you could easily get a decent dinner and a bed in the hayloft in exchange for songs and news. He was going to sing about Geralt; he had known already that he was probably going to be singing about Geralt all his life, but now some of them would be love songs. Not at all a bad outcome, considering it began with a curse.


	3. The Moon-White Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Although Jaskier and Geralt's relationship continues, things don't necessarily go smoothly, particularly when they run into each other while doing their respective jobs and dealing with a somewhat different kind of curse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't expect it but this chapter developed a plot, kind of a _Witcher_ episode-lite in which there's a problem to solve and a monster to fight - although I must warn you that I can write sex scenes, I can't write fight scenes, and I didn't even write a full-on sex scene in this one because they have some trials and tribulations.  
> I've improvised some stuff about how Geralt might respond physically to injury which is a little odd. This chapter ended up being all from his point of view, including a certain amount of being giddy in love/lust with Jaskier and thrown by it. This must take place at least some months after the previous chapter because it was early summer then and now it's spring again, but it's super vague because it's _The Witcher_ where the timeline is made up and the points don't matter.  
> Minor content warning: an animal dies.

Geralt had never actually been invited to a wedding, much less expected to participate in one himself. Doing so as part of a contract was probably the only way it would have happened, but he was well aware of how out of place he was in this setting and withdrew into himself accordingly. It was impossible to be inconspicuous. Preparations were underway in the baron’s hall, servants were hanging up garlands of flowers, green boughs and ribbons, there were light springtime colours everywhere and he must have looked like a charcoal stain on a white tablecloth in his dusty blacks. 

He completed a circuit of the hall assuring himself that he knew the layout and there were no hidden features that might give trouble. Servants looked at him curiously or suspiciously, but were too busy to speak to him. He went out through the side passageway that the bridal party would come through on their way from the chapel to the wedding feast and checked along its length. It was a long and broad corridor with a couple of small stone bay windows along its length for light. One was obscured by the fact that a young woman was pressed into it by a young man kissing her; there was a lot of giggling, squirming and rustling of petticoats going on and they ignored him completely. He would have paid no particular attention to them except that the young man was wearing the kind of fashionable little brocade jacket with puff sleeves that he associated with Jaskier, which reminded him vaguely that it had been too long since he’d last tracked down Jaskier. Whenever he had time to think about it lately, something else would always happen, often something expensive, and he couldn’t justify wandering off for no other reason than to see his… well, Jaskier said “boyfriend,” a term he couldn’t quite get behind, but there were no others that seemed to fit better. 

In the chapel, extensive preparations had been made, not only decorations but elaborate camouflaged wardings and seals over the entrance to the crypt. He inspected those; all solid and well-crafted, but nothing was proof against every eventuality. There seemed little more he could do here until events began near the end of the day. Now would be a good time to get something to eat, ensure his gear was ready and spend some time in quiet mental preparation. 

He made his way down to the kitchens, where everyone was even busier than in the hall and his presence was clearly obstructive. A turnspit dog having a bad day snapped at him and that was about the friendliest interaction he had. He managed to locate a pork pie that didn’t seem to be earmarked for the feast (possibly it was someone’s personal portion that they would be angry he had taken but their name wasn’t on it and frankly they could fight him) and carried it away along with a couple of pickled onions, looking for anywhere quiet to sit and eat. He would probably have to go outdoors somewhere. In the stables with Roach would have been his first choice but they were busy too, with early guests arriving by carriage and their horses needing attention. He got out at the back door and walked through the kitchen gardens to a kind of courtyard where it looked like a group of musicians were trying to rehearse around a fountain. 

Then he heard a voice through the strumming and discussion and the splashing of the water and froze.

“The key change at the bridge is the whole thing, if you can’t nail that we might as well not play it. I’ll run you through it again, all right, my dear?”

There was Jaskier, with his lute, in a new suit of leaf green and gold, and an  _ earring, _ when did he acquire an earring? talking to a young woman with a lyre. Geralt stood and stared, with mixed feelings of surprise and pleasure that Jaskier should turn up when he had just been thinking of him, and concern and irritation that he should be around when he, Geralt, had to work. The woman was nodding and listening earnestly as he directed her; it was curious to see Jaskier speaking with authority, but also with his usual charm — her nervous expression cleared into a smile and she seemed to be getting the hang of the passage of music he was demonstrating to her. And there, naturally, he leaned in and began to flirt. He turned to point something out to her and that brought his gaze to Geralt. His eyes widened and his face lit up, to such an extent the woman with the lyre looked quite snubbed. 

“Geralt!” He slung his lute onto his back and rushed over to hug him tight. Geralt held out his arms awkwardly, hands full of food, and tried to squeeze Jaskier with his elbows, and wished this had happened anywhere else, anywhere private for starters. He had half an onion in his mouth that he had forgotten about because he saw Jaskier, and he swallowed it quite painfully rather than have to stand there chewing before he could speak. And Jaskier’s body was pressed up to his and he was experiencing an intense rush of blood away from the head. “What on earth are you doing here?” Jaskier asked, pulling back and beaming at him. “Bride’s side or groom’s?”

“Neither. I’m here on a job,” Geralt managed to say. 

“Riiiight,” said Jaskier. “All right. This might be a slightly different gig than I thought it was going to be. I’d thought they might need some extra security because of the feud, but you’re extra extra.”

“I’m not here because of the feud. I’m here because of the curse.”

“Oh, a curse! Well, they’re always fun.  _ What _ curse? No, you know what, come over here and we’ll talk.” He grabbed Geralt’s elbow and walked him rather quickly through an archway and round the corner of the kitchen-garden wall, by which time Geralt had recovered enough to check that they were alone, push him up against the wall and kiss him; at least he tried to but Jasker gave a yelp of alarm and shoved him back. “Lute!” he exclaimed. “Were you seriously just going to crash my baby up against a brick wall?”

“I didn’t think,” said Geralt. “I just wanted to —“

“Get over here,” Jaskier said, grabbing him by the straps of his cuirass and kissing him deeply before pulling back and saying “Gross. What have you been eating?”

“This is not going well,” said Geralt.

“It is  _ not, _ our reunions are usually far sexier than this. Are you holding a pie?”

“I was trying to have lunch.”

“So it’s not a fun little in-joke. And in your other hand, a pickled onion? Okay,  _ that’s _ what you were eating, and I hate them, throw it away. No, don’t throw it, I feel like with this run of luck you’ll hit the bride’s cat and kill the poor little sod or something. Drop it gently.”

Geralt dropped it and wiped his hand on his trouser leg. “It’s still good to see you again,” he said. “You’re looking well.” It was an understatement but he needed to warm up. Maybe it was because he was still hungry but the word “delicious” occurred to him and Jaskier was probably going to really like that if he could bring himself to say it out loud. He looked fresh and bright and in his element. The earring was a little golden buttercup on a fine ring.

“I’m  _ doing _ well. You’re looking a little rough, are you sleeping?” He touched Geralt’s cheek gently, brushing his cheekbone with his thumb.

“I should be able to sleep well tonight,” Geralt said hopefully.

“Okay, that was a little bit smooth, we’re finding our feet again. Not that we’ll probably get to bed before morning, I’m fairly sure this is going to be a rager. Assuming it doesn’t become a brawl. Now look, what  _ I _ know is that these two noble families have been having a blood feud for about a hundred years but they’ve finally negotiated a kind of peace treaty and they’re sealing it with an arranged marriage. So it’s all very delicate, most of the guests still hate each other’s guts, but everyone is tired of all the doctor’s bills and funeral expenses, so if the wedding goes off well it’ll make everyone feel better and set a new tone for the relationship. That’s what I’m here for, to enhance the mood. Featured soloist. The band is pretty good, I’ve worked with a few of them before, I think they understand my creative vision, and of course we’ll play the old feel-good classics and try to keep the dancefloor hopping. But. You’re telling me there’s a curse as well?”

“The curse is behind the feud,” Geralt said. “Or it’s existed almost as long and has fuelled it. This began as a falling-out between friends which got worse and worse as they dragged their relations into the conflict for support and the relations began to offend and attack each other too. Each side put a curse on the other on the same full moon, and each side has been haunted since by a demon beast which rises from the crypt of their chapel every ten years on this night to claim the eldest child of the head of each family. Each side has always blamed the other for taking things too far. It’s about as stupid, bloodthirsty and pointless as it sounds.”

“Is it the same demon beast doing them both or have they got one each?”

“The same one. It alternates which house it attacks first each time. Tonight it won’t have to.”

“Efficient. Why in heaven’s name would they plan a wedding for the same date?”

“The curses were cast because of the feud. It fuels them and they fuel it, so that all the attempts to lift or break them over the decades have failed. They’re hoping that officially ending it, solemnising it with the marriage, will finally break them for good.”

“Love triumphs over hate,” said Jaskier. “That’s beautiful. And if it doesn’t, and things get ugly, there is a witcher on tap to deal with it.”

“Yes. The bride and groom are the current eldest children. If nothing else, I’m to try to stop the beast killing them.”

“I feel a bit bad now about bonking the bride earlier,” Jaskier said, fidgeting with his earring. “I thought she was just so sad and desperate because she wasn’t that keen to marry the chap, he does look a bit like a thumb. I didn’t realise she’s looking at a death sentence if this doesn’t go off.”

“Jaskier,” said Geralt wearily. 

“I know, I know. You don’t like hearing about it.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“She said she wanted one thing that would be just hers, one bit of joy that she chose for herself before she gave everything up for her duty. I was actually trying to be nice. Does the curse care about whether she’s a virgin when she gets married?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Well, thank goodness for that, or I’d be a murderer, and I can’t cope with all that guilt again.”

“I thought you said you’d never killed anyone.”

“Things change, I’m not just suspended in amber in between times you see me.”

“You didn’t tell me.” Geralt felt rather hurt; if Jaskier had killed someone he somehow felt he ought to have been the first to know. 

“It was very upsetting, I didn’t like to dwell on it, and look, technically I didn’t  _ kill _ anyone, he just died  _ with _ me. He… overexerted himself. Weak heart, apparently, which he didn’t warn me about or I would’ve been more careful.” He gave Geralt a kind of guilty pleading look. “At least he died happy.  _ Really _ happy. What are we thinking here?”

“I’m torn between thinking you’re a disgrace and feeling sorry for you. I see why that would upset you.” It would have upset him and he was made of sterner stuff than Jaskier.

“I know! I liked him! I mean all right, he was a bit of a hypocrite, but you know how aristocratic families are, it was decided when he was born that he was going to be an archbishop.”

Geralt covered his eyes with his hand and dragged it down over his face. “Jaskier, you are chaos in a human form.”

“That’s a bit harsh.”

“Why can you not just get a girlfriend like a normal person?”

“Well, my boyfriend might not like that,” Jaskier said, with a disarming smile against which Geralt was determined to remain fully armed. 

“You know what I mean. Someone who’s not engaged or married or consecrated.”

“I have lots of people like that, it just doesn’t tend to result in... stories. Look, how do you rate your chances of stopping this beast, assuming it does crash the wedding?”

“It’s been done before, a couple of times. If it can be held off until dawn that buys them another ten years.”

“If you could kill it would that break the curse too?”

“It might.”

“Okay. Feeling a lot better about this, then. Because maybe the marriage does work, it’s not exactly True Love but it’s goodwill and hope and choosing to make a future together and that’s pretty good too. And if it doesn’t, there’s you and your tremendous gift for applied violence. And I almost believe in you more than in True Love.”

“Thank you,” said Geralt dryly. “Making  _ you _ feel better is obviously my top priority.”

“You should eat that pie. You’ll need your strength tonight. Do you want a drink too? I’ll get you a drink. Don’t move from this spot.” Jaskier hurried off, leaving him with the now-familiar emotion of wrath against the fates for making the person he could love the most in the world both so gorgeous and so reliably infuriating. Of  _ course _ he’d fucked the bride on her wedding day. And of  _ course _ he’d genuinely meant to be nice to her and give her a memory she could treasure. Jaskier saw himself as a romantic figure who brought a heady rush of freedom and passion into the lives of women otherwise trapped by duty and circumstance. The trouble the women might be in later if the affairs were found out didn’t seem to register in his mind; by then he would have moved on and would be,  _ sincerely _ that was the maddening thing, making love to someone new.

Geralt gave up, sat down with his back against the wall and ate his pie. This was an odd little space in between the wall and a long, tall hedge that went around the back of the manor house; it was quiet and naturally the sort of convenient nook that Jaskier would know about within hours of arriving at a place. There was a white cat over by the hedge, presumably the bride’s that Jaskier had mentioned, and it walked over to him and made friendly overtures, so he scratched its cheeks and offered it a little bit of the savoury jelly out of the pie, which it clearly enjoyed.

Jaskier came back without his lute and with two mugs of cider and a basket of bread, cheese and two more pork pies. 

“You’ve made a friend,” he said, sitting down beside him. “So have I, but mine works in the kitchen and snuck me these. Also, the head cook is having a breakdown because someone took the pie he was saving for the first break he’s taken since three this morning. You probably shouldn’t go back in there.”

“No one would tell me what I was allowed to take,” Geralt muttered, then asked “A friend on top of the bride?” Jaskier considered people friends so easily.

“No, I was on top of the bride, my friend works in the kitchen,” Jaskier said, and laughed at his own joke. 

“That was really bad,” said Geralt, taking a sip of cider. He actually thought it was mildly funny but Jaskier didn’t deserve (or evidently need) encouragement right now.

“But the cider is really good. They’re known for it here. At least they would be more known for it if they weren’t known for their blood feud. Tends to overshadow the better things. And the even worse thing, since they’ve managed to keep the whole curse mess a family secret. The exact cause of the feud is hazy now but it’s generally agreed to have been something to do with an orchard. I don’t know if that information’s helpful for fighting the demon beast but I thought I’d share,” Jaskier said, pulling the soft middle out of a bread roll and eating it preparatory to stuffing cheese into the empty space. 

“Thanks,” said Geralt. He doubted it would be any use but he appreciated the food (the smoked cheese was also excellent) and the intentions. 

“Pspspsps,” said Jaskier.

“What?”

“This cat’s ignoring me. Very rude.”

“It probably knows what you did,” said Geralt.

“Yeah, it watched us, the little creep. I am really, really glad to see you,” Jaskier went on, leaning sideways to put his head on Geralt’s shoulder a moment before sitting back up. “I’ve been missing you a lot. I’ve been putting out feelers for a while to work out where you might be, but you proved elusive.”

“I’ve been busy,” said Geralt, and then, because that sounded more standoffish than he meant, “too busy.”

“In need of a break?” Jaskier asked. “Could you possibly, after you wrap up this contract, see your way to spending a few days with me? I don’t know what they’re paying you but I’m getting a nice little packet, and since I saw you I’ve been thinking of where we can spend it together. You can be my kept man again. I’ll buy you treats like… uh… fancy new potion bottles and… shiny shoes for Roach.”

“She could use new shoes,” Geralt mused.

“See, that’s how you justify it to yourself. It’s not just a holiday such as any well-adjusted, non-self-loathing person might decide they deserve from time to time. Baby needs new shoes.” Jaskier smiled at him and this time he smiled back. 

“Wait and see how the contract turns out before you make plans,” Geralt said.

“Well, imagine if the marriage curse-breaking works. You don’t have anything to do except enjoy the party.”

“I’m expected to leave if I’m not needed.”

“Do you still get paid?”

“Half my fee, for my time.”

“Cheap bastards,” said Jaskier.

“That would be easy money if there’s nothing to do.”

“Even so. Are they at least giving you a room?”

“They’re putting Roach up in the stable.”

“And I suppose you’ll just curl up in her stall with her.”

“I’ve slept in worse places,” Geralt pointed out. “You?”

“Room in the servants’ quarters. Bit beneath me, but they’ve got a full house with family guests. I was actually — look, you’re not going to like this but I should mention it now so you don’t get a shock. One of the guests is an old flame and sometime muse and patron of mine. She recommended me for the job. She’s rather expecting I’ll join her in her room after the feast.”

“Oh,” said Geralt. 

“You could come too.”

“I don’t even know this woman.”

“I’ll introduce you. Anyway, you don’t mind that. It’s not as if you  _ know _ a prostitute in advance.”

“Are you calling your patron a prostitute?”

“No, I’m the prostitute here, if you want to be brutally frank. But we do like each other very much, it’s more of an amicable mutual exchange than a mere transaction. And you’re fine with mere transactions, so it shouldn’t be a problem, should it?”

“It’s a problem because it’s  _ not _ a mere transaction.”

“Is that because you love me?” Jaskier asked, looking puzzled. “I would expect that to make it easier.”

“I don’t have a good explanation, but it doesn’t.”

“Well, that’s a shame, I think she would have liked you if you were well scrubbed. You can have my place in the servants’ quarters if you get off early and need somewhere to spend the rest of the night, though. It’s quite comfortable. First door on the left of the top landing, well, you’ll know it when you look in and see my gear strewn about.”

Geralt took a long draught of cider and told himself it was stupid to sit here with his heart breaking when Jaskier was wanting to go away with him right after all this was over.

“This is mucking up ‘together when we’re together and single when we’re apart’ a bit, isn’t it?” Jaskier asked. “I’m sorry, if I’d known you’d be here I would absolutely have made sure I was free.”

“If you made sure you were free you might not be here, if this patron got you the job,” Geralt pointed out. 

“It is all a bit  _ complex _ ,” Jaskier acknowledged. 

“And I’m not happy about having you anywhere near this contract.”

“Your protective thing wears a bit thin, Geralt. Nothing too terrible happened to me before you got all thingy about it.”

“The djinn nearly killed you.”

“That wasn’t a contract. Aha. I’ve got you there!”

“You’ve got fuck-all,” Geralt muttered, stuffing bread in his mouth. 

“It will be fine. The curse isn’t even on me, I’m not the beast’s target.”

“By all accounts it’s not concerned with hitting only its target. The time ten years ago was a bloodbath. Both families tried to hide their eldest, the beast tore through anyone in its path, and they still lost both of them.”

“Oof,” said Jaskier, and winced. “But still! Nothing might happen!”

“Will you just promise me one thing?” Geralt asked. “If I tell you to run, you’ll run. Don’t stop or go back for anything. Don’t try to hide inside the house. Get as far away as you can. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Jaskier looked uncomfortable. “Look, basic law of chivalry here, I don’t feel right running past people who need a hand getting out. There aren’t going to be any small children present, they’ve been sent away to be safe, which  _ I _ thought was so they wouldn’t be exposed to any possible brawling, but women. Old people. Someone with a gimpy leg perhaps.”

“You’re not a knight, so fuck chivalry and keep yourself safe,” said Geralt. “Do that much for me. I told you I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Yeah… all right, but I’m aware I’m overly influenced by you going ‘do that much for me’ in your intense voice.” Jaskier leaned in and kissed him. “I promise.”

“Thank you.” He combed his fingers into Jaskier’s hair and kissed him again.

Jaskier smiled softly at him. “Now you taste like cheese  _ and _ onions and it’s so much worse as a combination.”

“You should be the last one to be picky, considering where your tongue has been,” Geralt said, going in for more. Jaskier’s lips were very soft and he was scented and generally as  _ fancy _ as Geralt had ever seen him. He put his hand above Jaskier’s knee and slid it upward and squeezed his inner thigh and Jaskier gave a little “mmph” followed by a sweet sigh.

Geralt would have liked to take this further but he heard approaching footsteps and sat up straight and addressed himself seriously to his drink as the lyre player looked around the side of the archway and said hesitantly, “Knock knock? Jas, we need you. Time to set up in the hall.”

“And I am here,” said Jaskier, bouncing up. “Listen, Geralt, if I don’t get to talk to you again before everything kicks off, well… good luck. I hope you don’t have to do anything, but I know you can do it. And if you change your mind about after, just come and find me. Let’s go, Nicola.”

As they passed under the archway Geralt heard her whisper, “Is he—” and Jaskier reply, “Terribly shy, leave him be.”

That left Geralt alone with the cat. It sniffed around investigating the basket and licked a corner of the cheese. Geralt crumbled a piece off for it. “I can only apologise for him,” he said. “He does actually have redeeming qualities. It’s just really hard sometimes to remember what they are.” Talking to cats, he had found, was almost as good as talking to horses. They were quietly receptive, if less sympathetic. Dogs, on the other hand, were too engaged and concerned. It was a fine balance.

“He’s funny, for example,” he said. “Nice voice. Loyal and affectionate. The loyalty’s the good side of the maddening persistence. Generous when he has something to share.”  _ He can fuck me so well I forget everything else. A cat doesn’t need to hear that. I suppose that’s what he did for the bride too.  _ “I’m going to try to give your mistress a chance to live to regret him,” he said. 

There was a very soft footfall and a voice said, “Excuse me. Why are you talking to my cat?”

He turned and saw a girl in a long black dress, her arms folded.

“I thought it was the bride’s cat,” he said. “Who are you?” 

“It’s just that you’re wasting your time,” she said. “He’s deaf. White cats with blue eyes mostly are.” She tapped her foot on the ground twice, sharply, and the cat looked up from its cheese and scampered over to her with a chirrup. She bent and scooped it up and held it in her arms; it rubbed its head against her neck and shoulder and Geralt observed that the black dress was littered with white hairs. She was a tall, thin girl with a light brown complexion and thick black hair —- very like Yennefer’s, he thought involuntarily, although the girl’s eyes were hazel instead of violet. She looked less like Yen the longer he looked; her hair was stick-straight and pulled straight back in a plait which made her look younger, but he thought now she might be about twenty. “Are you the witcher my parents hired for the wedding?” she asked. 

“Yes,” he said, and returned to his drink. 

“Can I talk to you?” she asked, kneeling down beside him with her cat in her arms. There were deep brown shadows under her eyes.

“You are,” he said. 

“I’m Gala. I think I might have important information for you,” she said. “Will you come with me to the library?”

He had finished most of the little picnic Jaskier had brought him and felt satisfied. Information could be valuable, and there was still time to spare. He knocked back the last of the cider and stood up. “All right.” That meant he loomed over her, and she looked up at him rather wide-eyed, but she seemed to relax when she rose to her feet and looked him in the face again. 

“Come on,” Gala said, and added “Leave that,” although he hadn’t been about to do anything with the basket. She walked hastily along the strip of grass between the wall and the hedge and turned in at another archway about a hundred yards further on than the first. Geralt followed her up a staircase and along a gallery to a room that it was somewhat ambitious to call a library. There were a lot of record books, ledgers, almanacs and other evidence of the agricultural and mercantile priorities of the family. The girl was looking more nervous now. She set the cat down on a leather armchair, went over to a bookshelf, and pulled out several books in order to remove another that was slipped in behind them against the wall. She turned towards him with it in her hands. It was a thin quarto with a blue cloth binding that looked amateurishly made. “I’ve been doing research about the curse since I was ten,” she said. “That was the year I saw it happen. My eldest brother Collin and two of my uncles died.” She waited expectantly, and so Geralt said, “I’m sorry.” 

“There isn’t very much written down about it,” she went on. “It’s horrible, and people are ashamed. The text of the original curses is lost, which makes them that much harder to break without knowing the full terms. But my great great grandmother Misia was like me, she tried to piece things together and think of something else we could do. This is her book. Everyone’s ignored it because they say she was just a madwoman, but I think anyone would be a little mad who’d seen what she had seen. It took her  _ baby _ out of her arms and ate it. There’s this part that I think could be very important. No one will listen to me, but perhaps they’d listen to you.” 

Gala was probably not mad, but she was clearly under great strain. She didn’t blink enough and she tended to whisper. He had his doubts about the accuracy of her information, if only because she seemed desperate and might believe anything that offered her hope, but there was no reason yet to write it off. “Tell me about it,” Geralt said. 

“Here,” said Gala, opening the book and turning to a frayed ribbon marker. “The moon-white beast. In the years leading up to an attack, an all-white animal has always appeared somewhere near each house. Sometimes it’s several years before, sometimes it’s very close to the time. They stay around until the night of the curse, then they’re never seen again. When I found Moon three years ago, I knew what he was. My — my cat’s name is Moon.”

“You think the white animal becomes the beast of the curse?” Geralt asked. He looked at the cat, which was licking itself with one hind leg in the air. “Why haven’t you killed it?”

“He was just a kitten,” Gala said, shocked. “I — I hoped that if I kept him and was kind to him, he would grow to love me, he would see some good in our family and wouldn’t want to harm us.”

So she wasn’t mad, but she was very naïve. “I can do it without hurting him,” he offered. 

“No!”

“If the cat is part of the curse, whether it loves you means nothing. It will do what the curse makes it do. If you’re right, you could protect your family for another ten years. If you’re wrong —” 

“Don’t you dare say it’s only a cat!” Gala snapped, and banged the book down on the table beside her.

“Did they call Misia a madwoman because she was killing white animals?” Geralt asked. Gala looked away. “And did it stop the beast coming again after the ten years?”

“That’s  _ why _ I don’t think killing him is the answer,” said Gala. 

“Or it’s just an animal. White animals are born sometimes. Desperate, grieving people see patterns where there are none.”

“Or maybe it’s you,” said Gala abruptly. 

“Me?”

“You’ve just turned up. You have white hair. You’re a —”

“Not a beast,” said Geralt. “Not the kind you mean. If I were, why would I be here in the guise of a witcher hired to stop me? Why would I be talking to you about how to stop me?”

“If you liked to play with your prey,” Gala said, her eyes welling up with tears. “Like a cat.” She grabbed his right arm with both hands. “If you are,” she said, her chin trembling, “please. You can speak. You can reason. Please don’t do it. Or if you have to take someone take me.”

Geralt said nothing. He waited until she sobbed and sat down on the chair and gathered the cat into her arms and cried into its fur. It mewed in protest, its voice unusually loud and shrill because it couldn’t hear itself.

“You shouldn’t volunteer to die,” he said. “Not at your age.”

“I don’t want to die!” she said. “But I can’t bear to see it again! Please. I love my sister more than anything in the world. And — and I love the man she’s going to marry.”

“Ah,” said Geralt. This was all a bit far from his area of expertise. “If you love him, why aren’t you the one getting married?”

“They think it needs to be the two eldest, the targets of the curse, to make it work.” Gala took a deep, shuddering breath and pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve, wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “It’s not you, is it? I’m sorry. I feel so stupid.”

“I am here to help,” said Geralt. “I don’t think killing your cat will do that.”

“Why did you say that, then?”

“To see what you would say.” He leaned his backside on the edge of the table and thought while Gala composed herself. 

“Well,” she said, clearing her throat, “that was all I had, so now I suppose I either hope my parents’ plan works, in which I have very little faith, and I never get to be with Karel and have to watch him and Brea have perfect babies together, or I just hope you can kill a monster that’s been decimating my family for a hundred years because of a stupid fight that no one even remembers.” She took another slow, ragged breath. “And at the same time I try to brace myself for seeing Brea and Karel die horribly while there’s absolutely nothing I can do. Is there  _ anything? _ You know about monsters.”

Geralt didn’t particularly want to spend his remaining time before the ceremony consoling her, but she was asking a practical question. “Most of them hunt by scent more than by sight or sound,” he said. “If you can give me some personal items of your sister’s, they may be useful to decoy it away from her.”

“Yes!” she said, jumping up. “Come on.” She grabbed his wrist and pulled him along with her out of the library and through passageways to a large, sunny bedchamber. The bed was messy, with the covers and pillows rumpled and strewn about. Gala tutted sharply. “Those lazy girls haven’t done the rooms out today,” she said. “But that’s good for us. Her pillowcases would be useful, wouldn’t they? And her sheets.” She strode over to the bed, pulled back the covers and stood staring at the crumpled bottom sheet, stained with a few small spots of blood in the middle of a fading damp patch. She looked shocked, which seemed like an unusual reaction for a woman. 

“Do you think that’s part of the curse?” she asked. “The moon, and blood?”

“Isn’t that just natural?” Geralt asked, although he wondered why he was trying to cover for Jaskier this way. 

“It’s not the right time,” she said, reddening. “We always match up. We — we have a little joke about it. Then why would there be —” She turned redder still and covered her nose and mouth with her hands, pressed together. 

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Geralt said. 

“I’ve been preparing myself to give up the man I love forever and Brea is —  _ bitch!” _ she exclaimed. “I don’t really mean that,” she added guiltily. “I do love her but how  _ can _ she?”

“That doesn’t concern me. I can use the pillowcases.” He stripped one off the pillow. Gala was still staring at the stain. 

“Who did she even…” She stopped. “Wait. When I met you, you thought Moon was  _ Brea’s _ cat. You were saying something about giving her a chance to live to regret him. Who’s  _ him? _ You  _ knew _ about this!”

“I didn’t know about it until after the fact,” he said, “and it’s the least of your worries now.”  _ This is what I get for talking to animals. Even deaf animals. _

“Why’s she going to regret him? What’s he going to do?”

“Fuck off and never show his face again,” said Geralt succinctly, pulling off the other pillowcase.

“Oh,” said Gala, looking slightly relieved. “Quite an ordinary regret, then. Or a relief, depending on how she feels about him.” She gave a shaky little laugh. “You can worry about so many different things at the same time, can’t you?”

“I have what I need,” said Geralt, tucking the pillowcases into his cuirass. They might or might not do any good, his own smell might mask them, but even a moment’s confusion about where the target was would be helpful. The blood would be stronger and better, but the sheet inescapably smelled like Jaskier too and that would not be helpful. “I’d advise you to get ready for the wedding. Wear shoes you can run in.”

“I’ll shut Moon up in my room,” she said, as if that would stop anything, but she felt she was doing something useful and she looked more hopeful and determined now. She reached out and patted his arm. “Good luck. It really is terribly brave what you’re doing. I’m still scared but I feel so much better knowing you’re here. You seem reliable.”

_ And you seem highly strung and fairly spoilt, but with any luck you’ll live through the night. _ He nodded and turned to leave the room. 

“Oh! And what’s your name?” she asked.

“Geralt of Rivia.”

“Geralt of… I think I’ve heard a song about you.”

“Most people have. It’s exaggerated.” He went to take up his post in the chapel.

  


The wedding ceremony was totally uneventful, although the tension in the room was so high as to be almost unbearable. These weren’t his people and they weren’t his problems but it still made the hairs on the back of Geralt’s neck prickle. The extraordinary thing was that they were afraid they were going to be attacked by a monster that would rend people limb from limb, and yet they were still so concerned about appearances that he had been herded to stand behind a decorative screen lest he lower the tone. As much as the feud had fuelled the curse and vice versa, the feud had also helped to camouflage the curse because the ten-yearly tragedies could be passed off as attacks and reprisal killings. It was, in a word, fucked. 

He watched the bride and groom carefully. She was very pale, giving her brown complexion a sallow cast, but looked determined to see it through. If carrying on with Jaskier had given her courage, good for her. He, unfortunately, really did look like a thumb, a very pink one. It was unclear what Gala saw in him. Kind eyes? She was near the altar too, as a bridesmaid, in a light blue dress that didn’t suit her. Jaskier was up in the minstrel’s gallery, providing music as the bride entered, and had the unmitigated audacity to wink at him. In a moment of weakness, he winked back. Jaskier looked so delighted with that he almost forgave him for being a despoiler of virgins and a pain in his neck. 

When the ceremony was safely over, there was a slight decrease of tension. No one had objected and nothing had burst out of the crypt with fangs bared. The guests decamped to the hall, where they were seated at long tables around the dancefloor, and a few minutes later rose to applaud as the wedding party and their parents entered to sit at the high table. 

It was a very long evening. At least they kept their speeches short, almost cursory. He had no appetite so the lavish display of food held no appeal, but he would have liked a drink and no one would give him one. Eventually Jaskier took a break from playing jigs and reels and came and found him at one side of the hall, all bright-eyed and pink-cheeked and energised by the attention, with his hair curling damply at the nape of his neck and little salty drops of sweat escaping from his sideburns down to the angle of his jaw that Geralt had to tell himself very firmly he could not lick, not now. 

“Nice night,” Jaskier said, leaning in too close so Geralt smelled the cologne and sweat together wafting off his hot skin. “Care to step outside for some fresh air?”

“I can’t,” said Geralt. At the start of the ceremony Jaskier’s jacket had been fastened up to the neck, proper and formal, but as he got warmer playing livelier dance music he had popped one button after another to expose a little vee of chest and soft brown curls that it was an effort not to stare at. It was incredibly distracting. Geralt could  _ feel _ himself getting dumber. 

“Aw. Are you sure? If I was a monster going to disrupt a wedding and eat people, I definitely would have done it during the ceremony. Right when it was official. Raargh. Drama. Wouldn’t you?”

_ The bride’s sister thought I might. That’ll be a good story to tell you when we can be alone. After all the more urgent things I want to do.  _ “I won’t know it’s not coming until dawn,” he said. 

“Aww,” said Jaskier again, wrinkling his nose. “Anything I can do to help? Do you need a snack or something? That’s all I can think of.”

“A drink,  _ please. _ ” His mouth had gone dry.

“Right away. Cider fine again? It’s not too strong and you want a clear head, right?”

“Thank you.”

“Coming right up,” said Jaskier, and gave him another disgraceful wink. He dodged away between tables, intercepted a servant with a tray of drinks, and made his way back with two mugs. “Here,” he said, “here’s to your health, your strong right arm, your clear head, your sharp eyes, your big… just the whole package. Cheers.” He clinked his mug against Geralt’s and then downed his drink in one long pull, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “Ahh!” He looked at Geralt, panting slightly, and the silence went on too long, and they unconsciously swayed nearer each other before remembering themselves. Geralt clapped his hand on Jaskier’s shoulder, pulled him in and said beside his ear, as low as he could while being audible, “When I get the chance, I’m going to fuck you till you see stars.” He stepped back; Jaskier looked as if he could already see stars. 

“Okay,” he said, “okay, I will, I will take that advice on board, your reviews are always appreciated. You should listen out, I’m going to play a song I wrote about you. A new one!”

“Full of puff and lies, I’ll bet,” Geralt said. 

“You wait and see.” Jaskier hurried off and Geralt drank deeply and tried to convince himself he did not in fact have a half-hard erection that would get worse before it got better. 

_ There’s the real reason I shouldn’t have him around on a contract. He’s too distracting. Brings out the idiot in me like no one else can.  _

_ Of course, if I had him around all the time I’d be more used to him and he wouldn’t affect me this way.  _

_ I assume that but what if it would always be this bad? _

He was distracted from this train of thought by the realisation that first, Jaskier was singing, second, he strongly suspected this was the song about him, and third, it was a comic song about a big, clumsy rural swain called Chamomile who was in love with a pretty, coquettish country lass called Buttercup and attempted to express his feelings for her by comparing her to a delicious and succulent pie. It went on and on, and it actually had a catchy chorus, and people were laughing and singing along each time the chorus came round and he was going to have to throw Jaskier in a lake. 

To be absolutely, dispassionately fair to Jaskier, he was doing a highly effective job of taking everyone’s minds off all their past mutual grievances and making it seem less and less likely that anything terrible would happen tonight. The fact that he had mined an embarrassingly intimate conversation for his motifs should really be set aside or outright ignored, particularly given that nobody but the two of them could possibly recognise the source. He was still going to have to throw him in a lake. A glacial one. Then perhaps throw himself in after.

Something brushed against his leg and startled him into full alertness. Moon the cat was rubbing its head against his shin. Gala had said she would shut it up in her room for the night, but he was fairly sure cats could get out of or into most places if they cared to. A locked bedroom or a sealed crypt, for example. Moon looked up at him with big blue eyes and yawned; there was always that disconcerting moment in a cat’s yawn when it looked as if the jaws might go on opening until the head turned inside out and became a mass of jutting white spikes and corrugated pink flesh, and for a fraction of a second he thought this time it was going to. Things seemed to slow down and his hand moved to the hilt of his lighter sword. If he struck first it would be hard to explain why he had just beheaded a small and rather pretty cat in the middle of a wedding reception, but that wasn’t what made him pause rather than strike; it was simply intuition that he didn’t need to. Moon’s jaws retreated from the point of no return and it licked its chops and then meowed loudly and harshly at him, apparently remembering him from earlier as a provider of pork jelly and cheese. Just a cat. He shook his head at it and began a circuit of the hall. His mind had cleared; he’d felt a shock of cold not unlike that imaginary glacial lake.

Once again, he watched the bride and groom carefully as he approached the high table. They were talking with their heads close together. Brea looked a little tearful. She was listening and nodding as Karel spoke earnestly, holding both her hands in his. There was too much overlapping noise for him to make out the words but it looked as if he was reassuring her, and after a few moments she sniffed, blinked and managed a brave, tight-lipped smile that Karel returned. Clearly no amount of “Chamomile and Buttercup” was enough to make them forget the peril they stood in. They’d responded to that by drawing together. It wasn’t a love match but perhaps Jaskier was right about basing a marriage on goodwill and choosing a future together, though Jaskier was the last person you would expect to hear that sort of pragmatism from.

Was it enough to break a curse? He had to think not. Perhaps if the framers of the original curses had been considerate enough to make that one of their terms, like those prophecies that said a thing wouldn’t happen  _ until _ something impossible-sounding (but entirely possible on a certain interpretation of the words) happened. The two families uniting in love, or at least marriage, might have seemed like an equally impossible thing. Without knowing that, though, he had to think the marriage pact was a nice idea and hopefully a solution to the mundane aspects of the feud, but unlikely to make any difference to the supernatural ones.

It must be nearly midnight now. That would be the second most dramatic moment for the beast to appear, if you followed Jaskier’s logic. Monsters did not necessarily have any sense of drama, but monsters summoned by curses tended to follow at least the letter of instructions that were often based on a human sense of drama. He took up a position near the couple and waited. Presumably, in Jaskier-world, the music would crescendo and as it reached a peak the beast would burst into the room and roar or howl or just get things started by biting someone in half. 

When midnight came, though, there was a lull. The band were having a drink and quietly discussing what to play next, the guests were heavily engaged with the third dessert course, and the only activity on the dancefloor was a little rat-like white lapdog which had trotted out to the middle and was sniffing around. It was easy to hear a distant bell chime the hour.

The lapdog burst. An impossibly large body unfolded from its pitiful carcass, as if crawling through a hole from another place where things were  _ wrong _ . It was moon-white and glistening and blind and it opened its horribly jointed jaws and shrieked at the pitch of pain. 

There was instant panic, screaming, fleeing, shoving, falling and trampling. Geralt vaulted the high table and threw one sword overhand; it stuck in the beast’s shoulder, quivering, and it turned towards the pain, hissing. Striding forward, he dragged one pillowcase out of his cuirass and waved it in the air as he drew his second sword. “Come and get it!” he bellowed, and as an afterthought, “Everybody  _ out!” _

  


_ Authorial Note: Let us draw a veil over the distasteful scene of violence which followed.  _

  


The hall was empty, the only creature in sight the convulsing body of the beast as it lay dying in a pool of its ichor. The torches and lamps had been extinguished by a huge rush of wind, and the light of the full moon shone in through broken windowpanes and torn curtains. Broken tables and benches, smashed and spilt food and drink, and shattered glass and crockery were strewn everywhere. 

A distant bell chimed one. 

The beast gave one last agonising shudder, a foul liquid gushed from its jaws and its hindquarters, and it lay still. 

Its lifeless body heaved as Geralt dragged himself out from underneath. He was drenched with unidentifiable fluids and his hair was plastered to his head by blood from a laceration to his scalp. More blood was leaking from small but painful puncture wounds in his right thigh and left armpit. Under the blood and the ichor his face was dead white and mottled grey, and his eyes were as black as ink. He crawled clear of the body, sat up, fumbled the other pillowcase out of his cuirass and pressed it to the centre of the throbbing pain in his head. 

One of the few intact tables clattered onto its side and Jaskier looked out over its edge. “That was just  _ excessive,” _ he said. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Geralt growled. “I told you to go. If you hung around out of some bloody stupid idea of helping me —”

“I didn’t, thanks, I was running for my life like a good boy when I got knocked over and had to roll under the table or get trampled. Then I stayed put because you and Alabaster there were all over the room slamming each other into walls and I didn’t think I could get to a door without getting smashed. I occupied myself lamenting the probable loss to the world of my genius and gathering up napkins to staunch your wounds on the off-chance we both survived, so you’re welcome, you grumpy bastard,” said Jaskier, clambering over the table and picking his way through the wreckage to kneel beside Geralt. “Ye gods, the state of you.” He wiped Geralt’s face and peered at him in the moon shadows. 

“You don’t,” Geralt began to say, but Jaskier interrupted him.

“Wow. I can actually see myself in your eyes,” he said, and, to Geralt’s shock, kissed him. There was a long still moment before Jaskier turned his head aside and spat. “You bit the monster, didn’t you?” he asked. “I’m not kissing you again until you clean your teeth. Pleh. That had better not be poison.” A pitcher was lying on its side nearby; there was about a handful’s worth of ale left in it and Jaskier rinsed his mouth out before passing it to Geralt to do the same. “Now then,” he said, and pressed a pad of napkins on the wound showing through a rip in Geralt’s trousers and tied it on tightly with two more knotted together. “Where else does it hurt?” he asked. 

“Here,” said Geralt, touching his side with his free hand. “Under the arm.”

“All right, help me off with all this armour. How do you even get wounded in the armpit?”

“It’s a weak spot in a lot of armour,” said Geralt as Jaskier lifted the cuirass off over his head. He’d been feeling faint but it seemed to be coming right. Jaskier was being startlingly businesslike about the whole thing; he would have expected a lot more cries of “ew.” “You can’t protect it fully without losing mobility. A wound at the right angle can pierce the lungs or the heart.”

“Well, I don’t think you’ve got that,” said Jaskier. “Look, I’m going to stuff some napkins in here, you just clamp your arm down on them and that should hold it for the time being. Can you get up?”

“Of course I can get up,” said Geralt, although it was awkward with one arm clamped to his side, the other holding the pillowcase to his head, and a wounded leg that was stiffening up. He made it about halfway and Jaskier dragged him the rest of the way. “Don’t worry about me,” he said, trying not to breathe so hard. “I recover fast.” 

“Don’t worry about me,” Jaskier mimicked him. “I’m only entirely covered in blood and shit and more beat-up than you’ve ever seen me. Think nothing of it.”

“I don’t think it’s shit,” said Geralt. “It doesn’t smell like shit.” The light-headedness was back and there was a singing in his ears. 

“Well, it doesn’t smell  _ good. _ We’re washing you off before you full-body fester. Come on, we’ll go to the Contessa’s room, that lovely patroness.” They staggered towards the door, Jaskier setting the course and Geralt leaning on him heavily. “She’s got a huge bathtub. Showed it me this morning with hints of fun to come. If she doesn’t let me borrow it for an emergency, I’ve given her a lot of good head for nothing.” 

“Shut  _ up,” _ Geralt groaned. “I’m in enough fucking pain without jealousy too.”

“Geralt! Are you jealous?” Jaskier sounded rather thrilled. 

“Of course I’m jealous, idiot. You  _ tell _ me this shit to make me jealous.”

“Yes, but I didn’t think it really  _ worked! _ I thought you just  _ disapproved _ . Have you seriously been burning with jealousy?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” It was hard work going up the stairs, but at least the lamps were still lit here. The house seemed to be totally deserted. At least you could call it a successful evacuation. He hadn’t seen any human bodies in the hall, unless they were under wreckage. 

“Like, did you see when I was doing my solo on ‘Her Sweet Kiss’ and sang it right to the Contessa and she took a rosebud from her hair and stuck it in my buttonhole?”

“Yes. I wanted to march over there, throw you over my shoulder and carry you out.”

“And stick something else in my buttonhole.”

“Urgh.” The singing in his ears was louder.

“Come on now, Geralt, stay with me. Your head’s lolling around like a bladder on a stick. I’ll have to say something else to piss you off to keep you alert.”

“I am  _ fine, _ ” said Geralt. “It’s just the blood loss.”

“It’s just the blood loss,” mimicked Jaskier, kicking open the double doors of a grand guest bedroom. “It’s just the gaping wounds. I’m perfectly all right. I’ll walk it off. Whoops, my liver fell out.”

“They’re not gaping,” Geralt muttered. “Scalp wounds just bleed like hell, even on me.”

“I’ll say. Your hair is red. It doesn’t suit you.” Jaskier’s face was pale and worried as it came into view again; he helped Geralt to sit down on the floor leaning against the side of a truly huge bathtub. “But your face is looking a lot better. You’ve got your colour back. The black eyes were really cool but it’s a relief to see your yellow ones again.”

Sitting down helped immensely. “You think… my eyes turning completely black… is ‘really cool.’”

“It is,” Jaskier said, striking a light from the fireplace tinderbox and moving around the room lighting lamps and the firebox under the tub, then pumping water in. It was quite an elaborate set-up. Geralt wondered vaguely if it predated the curse or if these people just still went on installing luxuries in between times.

“Not… something out of your worst nightmare.”

“No, my worst nightmare is that I’m in front of a huge audience of everyone important in the world and I sing my heart out and they all boo me. Or the one about falling forever. Hate that one. Sorry, someone I love looking temporarily a bit spooky just doesn’t compare.” He knelt down and started undoing Geralt’s boots.

“Sorry about your suit,” Geralt said. It was stained wherever his body had made contact. 

Jaskier looked down at it as if he’d just remembered he had it on. “Yeah, I’m definitely going to have to charge you for cleaning. Don’t be a fool, that doesn’t matter now.”

“You just looked beautiful in it, that’s all.”

“You are  _ not well, _ ” Jaskier said, dragging his boot and sock off together and moving to the other.

“Really beautiful. Couldn’t take my eyes off you. Loveliest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“This is scary, Geralt, please try to pull yourself together.” Jaskier looked really worried. 

Geralt began to laugh weakly. “You’ve always pestered me for compliments and now you get them you don’t like them.”

“Well, you’re still mean, so at least that’s normal. I know.” He got up and came back with a box of sugarplums which he placed on Geralt’s chest. “Eat those.” He started in on Geralt’s trousers.

Geralt crunched through the sweet candied shell to the sour preserved plum inside. “Nothing in there but disappointment,” he said. “I couldn’t get hard for all the gold in the world.”

“Lift your draught-horse arse,” Jaskier said impatiently, dragging his pants down. He had to unbandage the thigh to get them off. “Huh, it’s nearly stopped bleeding. It’s just sort of oozing.”

“Told you I recover fast,” Geralt said, popping in another sugarplum.

“Or your blood pressure’s low because you have so little left.”

“It’s always low.”

“You don’t act like it.”

“Low and slow. These are nice.” He put two in his mouth, one for each side. “Uzhally hake fingsh ike iss.”

“You really are away with the fairies. Shirt off. Come on, skin a rabbit.” Geralt put the sugarplums aside and lifted his arms so Jaskier could pull his shirt off over his head and then peel the napkins away from his underarm. “Also just a bit oozy. I hope putting you in warm water doesn’t just melt the scabs and start it again.”

“Should be all right.” He managed to get up and climb into the tub by himself (since he could lean heavily on the side of it) and sank down in the water. It turned a vile colour almost at once.

“What we really need,” Jaskier said, “is a sort of warm waterfall that would just keep rinsing the guck off you and carrying it away. Someone should invent that. It would probably work by magic.”

“Or gravity,” said Geralt. He slid under the water to wet his hair and came back up. 

“All right, get back out and wrap up in a towel,” said Jaskier, “and I suppose I drain it and wipe it out and refill it. This is time-consuming,” he said, helping him out and sitting him down again. “I’ve never had a pet that needed so much grooming.”

“I cang fick free,” said Geralt with his mouth full of sugarplums.

“Well done,” said Jaskier. 

It took three changes of water, a lot of very expensive Contessa-quality soap and shampoo, and five ruined towels to get Geralt clean. By that time the sugarplums had taken effect, restoring some energy, and he was sensible enough to be embarrassed, also to be rather sick of their taste.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Jaskier. “Now that I’m no longer terrified that you’ll get weirder and weirder before fainting away and dying on me, it was funny. Let’s just finally go to bed before the sun comes up.”

“I haven’t heard anyone come back yet,” Geralt said. He was sitting on the side of the bath to dry himself off. Standing up wasn’t making him feel so strange any more but he had decided not to push himself yet. He was none too pleased with how he smelled right now; tuberose and jasmine were good signature scents for an elegant lady, less so for him, and he would prefer the rosemary stuff Jaskier normally used. In the greater scheme of things, and taken alongside his current relief to be alive and quiet wonder at having someone look after him like this (and frankly, some shock that Jaskier was so good at it), it dwindled into unimportance.

“No, but can you blame them? I’m sure they’re  _ waiting _ for the sun to come up,” said Jaskier, tying a clean bandage (which he had made by tearing up a silk nightgown that he claimed wouldn’t be missed) around Geralt’s thigh. “Out there in the dark hiding under bushes, probably. Or they all just went to the other side’s house, since that didn’t get attacked tonight.”

“That we know of,” said Geralt, holding up his arm so Jaskier could attend to that wound. When had he learned how to arrange a bandage to hold a pad to an awkward spot like the underarm? 

“What, like… another beast would appear to take the place of the one you killed so the curse could go on working? No, I refuse to accept that. It’s horrible. Everything’s going to be all right,” Jaskier said very firmly. “Stop thinking grim things.”

The Contessa’s bed was huge and silky-sheeted. The featherbed made the whole thing feel like a pillow. Jaskier nestled into it and said, “At last, my natural habitat.” He had taken off his jacket while helping Geralt in the bath and taken off his shoes, but otherwise he crawled in dressed. After a minute lying beside Geralt, he changed his mind and writhed around getting his trousers off and threw them out of bed. 

“That’s better. Spoon up now.”

“I’m normally the bigger spoon,” Geralt said. 

“Well, you’re the little spoon tonight. This morning.” Jaskier yawned hugely, warm against his back. “I hope if anyone comes back after sunup they have the good taste and decency not to wake us.”

“Your Contessa?” Geralt suggested, his eyes closing. 

“She’s not mine. She’s a nice friend to have and we make each other look good and feel good. You, on the other hand, are very much mine. I’ve considered monogramming you.”

“On the arse?” 

“You read my mind.”

  


Geralt woke up sore all over. Last night’s bruises were really making themselves felt now, and probably seen. Jaskier was still cuddled up behind him and someone was snuggled in front of him. He wondered if the Contessa had come back and decided the bed was big enough for three (in fairness, it was), but the weight on the sheets seemed too little for a person and when he cracked an eyelid open he found that it was Moon the cat, curled into a white circle like his namesake. On the whole, he was glad the beast hadn’t been Moon. He felt sorry for the dead dog in an abstract way, but he hadn’t spent any time with it and didn’t know it by name. He hoped Gala was all right and would return to take care of her pet. He wasn’t sure Roach would appreciate him bringing a cat on their travels. Still, it would have to be him, Jaskier wasn’t really a cat person. Yennefer, now, she would be a cat person, surely. But you couldn’t really show up and say “Sorry I tried to control your self-destructive tendencies with wish magic so that now you’re not even sure how much of what you felt for me was real” and hold out a deaf cat as a peace offering. Maybe he was still a little bit light-headed this morning. His body was still probably replenishing its blood and other humours. It would explain thinking that way. Humours out of balance. Moon would have to balance on the saddle when they rode. It would look odd, a witcher with a white cat. Maybe he could dye its fur like his clothes. Then again, maybe not. He drifted back into sleep.

  


“Sir. Mr Witcher. Sir.” 

Someone was hesitantly prodding his shoulder. He opened his eyes and saw a nervous-looking lady’s maid hurriedly straightening up and behind her, apparently, the lady. The Contessa was still managing to look elegant in last night’s evening dress despite some damage and staining here and there, and she was obviously amused. She could be allowed a little smirk, since after all he was the one who got to sleep with Jaskier. While too injured and exhausted to do anything but sleep, but the principle remained. Jaskier was still snuggled up against his back with one arm around him. The cat seemed to have gone. 

“Good morning,” said the Contessa, taking a step forward as her maid retreated, “or rather good afternoon.”

“Mmhmm.” He needed to collect himself before attempting anything more conversational.

“Since you clearly saved my life last night — and those of more or less everyone else present — I don’t begrudge you the use of my bed, or the indescribable state in which you’ve left my bathing arrangements, but I wonder when you might be up and away,” she said. 

“I can be out in a few minutes,” he said, although he didn’t want to be up  _ or _ away. He could feel Jaskier stirring now, lifting his head.

“Oh, good morning Bella,” he said, sounding genuinely cheerful. “I’m so pleased to see you’re not dead. Everything all right?”

“Good morning, you naughty boy,” she said, and leaned over Geralt to ruffle Jaskier’s hair. “I’m as well as can be expected. I’m  _ very _ offended that the invitation provided no warning as to the climax or rather crisis of the evening, so I don’t think Lady Annurca and I will be speaking any time soon, but I’m certainly glad her daughter and new son-in-law weren’t devoured which I understand to have been the whole point of the thing. Wasn’t your friend wonderful?”

“Was and is,” Jaskier said fondly. Geralt felt rather like pulling the covers over his head. The alternative was to get out of bed and try to find his clothes, but he thought the Contessa would enjoy that and he didn’t feel like giving her a show. 

“I didn’t realise you  _ had _ such an interesting friend.”

“Well, you know I meet all kinds of people in my travels.”

“I assume you  _ are _ friends and didn’t just meet last night in the fracas.”

“No, we’ve known each other for years. This is Geralt of Rivia. The real Geralt, the one from my witcher songs.” Jaskier still had his arm around him and it felt odd to be shown off this way, especially when he looked so far from his best. 

“The one who usurped me as your muse, I see. I don’t mind,” she added to Geralt, “since like Jaskier I have many interesting friends, and if I was inclined to feel a little bit slighted in the past, at least I can see for myself that I wasn’t supplanted by anyone  _ ordinary _ .”

“Anything but,” said Jaskier proudly, sitting up. Geralt rolled onto his back and folded his arms across his chest. “Sorry about the mess, Bella. I got left behind when everyone ran, which was fortunate really because Geralt was quite banged about by the time he’d finished off the monster, and he needed someone to help him get cleaned up and patched up and off to bed. I brought him here because I knew it would be comfortable.”

“Is he wearing my negligée?” the Contessa asked, gesturing towards Geralt’s bandages.

“Sorry about that too. I did also ransack your medicine cabinet a bit. Just to find some ointment. Today we should find a doctor to look at your wounds, Geralt, I’m still worried they’ll go nasty.”

“I know how to look after myself,” said Geralt. He knew how it felt when he was getting an infection, too, and this wasn’t it; this was the dull ache of clean wounds. He’d dose himself with the necessary potions to be safe but he wasn’t concerned.

“Yes, you just don’t have to do it alone. He’s one of those big strong manly men who feel violated if anyone sees they’re not invincible,” Jaskier added to the Contessa and patted Geralt’s chest. Geralt glared at him, which he ignored. “Bella, could I ask for one more  _ huge  _ favour?”

“You’re pushing your luck, but your charm gets you an extension.”

“Could you send your girl to bring my things from my room, and Geralt’s things from the stable — he’s got saddlebags — so we can get ready? Our clothes from last night are a wee bit wrecked. His more than mine. Geralt, have you got a change of clothes? No, of course you haven’t, forgot who I’m talking to. Well, I have an older suit.”

“I can’t wear your clothes,” Geralt objected. “Your pants are too tight.”

“Yeah, you are shaped a certain way, aren’t you? Bella, could that extension possibly extend to finding Geralt something to wear? He’s quite a big lad so he’s not easy to fit but I’m sure there’s something.”

“I’m sure there is,” she said. “I’ll even ask if you can be sent some breakfast. Now excuse me. I have so many people to talk to. Now that we know no one died, I shall dine out on this adventure for years.” She leaned across Geralt to kiss Jaskier, for an unnecessary length of time, then looked at Geralt, smiled and stroked his hair, and left the room. 

“Isn’t she great?” Jaskier asked. 

“She was undressing me with her eyes the entire time,” Geralt complained.

“You’re not dressed. And you’re used to it.”

“It’s different with you here.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” Jaskier lay back down and cuddled up to him with his head on his shoulder. “Hey, tell me how much it pissed you off when she kissed me.”

“Not as badly as it pisses me off that you’re enjoying it.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not going to keep flaunting it at you. It’s just the novelty value of knowing you’re jealous,” he said, with a smug little grin, playing with Geralt’s chest hair.

“I don’t  _ want _ to be jealous. I’m not normally. I don’t care who you want to fuck as long as it’s away from me. It just feels like it’s being rubbed in my face at the moment.”

“And I  _ want _ you to have a nice time if you meet someone you like,” said Jaskier, looking up at him and making effective use of his big blue eyes. “The only person I’m jealous of you with is Yennefer, and that hasn’t been a worry for a while.”

“You’re jealous of me with Yen?”

“Well, no shit, Geralt.”

“I thought you just didn’t like her.”

“I  _ don’t  _ like her, but that’s not really the point. I don’t know. I mean, it’s not just not liking. I do genuinely think she’s a bit mad, in a dangerous way. I worried about what might happen to you if you were with her for long and she got worse instead of better. And… I know you really loved her, a lot, and she was much easier for you to love than me. And I still worry that if you had a choice between us, it’d be an easy choice.” He looked away. 

“Well… I still love her. But even if I did have that choice, it wouldn’t be easy. I’d hate it. I’d hate whoever asked me to make it.”

“What if it was me?” Jaskier asked in a small voice. “Would you stop loving me then?”

“Well — no, because I can’t. I wasn’t thinking of you. That’s not the kind of thing you ask of me, and it’s not the kind of choice I have.  _ I  _ ruined things with Yennefer.”

“That really really makes it sound like I’m the second choice. Quite a distant second choice.”

“Don’t go thinking that. Listen.” Geralt turned onto his side to face Jaskier, holding his face between his hands. “You are stupidly easy to love.  _ Stopping _ myself loving you was the problem I used to have.”

“Yeah, but Yennefer doesn’t annoy you like I do.”

“Yennefer doesn’t please me like you do either. She can’t replace you any more than the moon can replace the sun.”

“Am I your sunshine?” Jaskier asked with a slightly tremulous smile. “Go on, get all sentimental and call me your sunshine.”

“You are like sunshine. You are. You’re a flower. You’re a pie if that makes you happy.”

“Am I a  _ cutie- _ pie or a  _ sweetie _ -pie?”

Geralt clamped his lips together and closed his eyes. He opened them and said, “She’s right. You push your luck.”

“But that was you biting your lip trying not to laugh because you don’t want to reward me being ridiculous, not you biting your lip trying not to get mad,” said Jaskier, beaming. “And I love how pink your bitten lips are.” He kissed them gladly and wrapped his arms around Geralt.

“Ow.”

“Whoops, okay, avoiding your wounded armpit.” Jaskier rearranged his arms. “Better?”

“Much.”

“When you say the moon can’t replace the sun,” Jaskier said, “no, it can’t, but the moon will always be in the sky too, won’t it? Waxing and waning and whatnot. Sometimes you can see it when the sun is still out.”

“Right. I wasn’t quite thinking it through that far, but it fits.”

“And the moon is for magic. All kinds of magic, not just batshit stuff like curses and vagenies. And the sun is for… warmth, and growth, right? I feel a  _ lot _ better about it if I think of me and her as your sun and moon. Thank you.”

“Not jealous any more?”

“Not  _ scared  _ any more. When she takes you back —”

“That’s hardly likely.”

“ _ If _ she takes you back, if you prefer, well, I still don’t actually like her and if she has a go at my crow’s feet again —”

“You haven’t got crow’s feet, she was just needling you.”

“— I will definitely be ready with a far more stinging retort,  _ but _ I am not going to be panicking that this is it and you’re going to choose and I’m going to lose. I can cope with a mild bit of jealousy in that case.”

“Good.” Geralt kissed him slowly and deeply. He was still feeling too drained to do anything more, but he put what he had into it, and afterward gathered Jaskier into his arms with his head on his shoulder and breathed in the smell of his hair. The little gold buttercup hanging from Jaskier’s earlobe dug into his shoulder and he shifted position. “Why did you start wearing an earring?”

“Just a whim really. Makes me feel a bit rich. Do you like it?”

“I think it suits you.”

“Aaand that I’m the loveliest thing you’ve ever seen?”

“I was very lightheaded when I said that.”

“Was it not true?”

“What do you think?”

“I think that it  _ basically _ came from the same place in your heart as ‘I’m going to fuck you till you see stars.’ Just expressed differently. And I believe that was very sincere.”

“The stars will have to wait.”

“Yeah, I thought so. But if I take you away somewhere nice for a few days’ convalescence, there’s hope. You do recover fast.”

There was a tap at the door. Jaskier kissed him once more and sat up, calling out, “Yes?”

Gala came in, back in her black dress, nudging the door open with her hip and carrying a tray. “I’m carrying a tray!” she said brightly.

“How nice,” said Jaskier, politely baffled.

“Nearly all the servants ran away in the night,” she said, “so I’m pitching in. I’m sure they’ll come back though. Goodness knows we need the help to clean up the hall. Don’t worry, I told Mother and Father very firmly that no damages should come out of your fee,” she told Geralt, setting the tray down across his lap as he sat up. She looked like someone extremely tired who had forgotten she’d ever felt tired in the glow of her happiness and relief. She was probably going to crash in an hour or two and sleep like the dead. “They’re a bit cross, but they understand.” 

“Wait, wait, he saved their daughter’s life, their whole extended family and numerous guests’ lives, and they want him to pay for a bit of a mess?” Jaskier asked, possibly forgetting the large demonic carcass downstairs. “I actually understand why someone would want to have a feud with them.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Geralt told him. The tray held bread and butter and jam, which was plenty. He spread a slice and started eating. He wished he had a shirt on like Jaskier. Gala was looking at his chest as if it was simultaneously a little bit offensive and an object of great curiosity. 

“Julian Alfred Pankratz,” said Jaskier, holding out his hand. 

“Yes,” said Gala, shaking it absent-mindedly and dragging her eyes back up to Geralt’s face. “We are all so grateful to you. Brea and Karel want to thank you. They’re getting an annulment. Nothing’s been consummated, and the monster’s dead, and Karel and I are going to be married instead. Which will still unite the families and we’re much more enthusiastic about it. It will just be quite a small wedding in a few weeks’ time but you’re invited.”

“Does he get to bring a guest?” Jaskier asked.

“I’m sorry, but what are you doing here?” Gala asked him. “Aren’t you one of the minstrels? They all ran away too.”

“Yes,  _ well, _ Geralt rescued me from the monster, which had me pinned down, and I stuck around out of gratitude and to tend his wounds. I’m going to write a song about it.”

“Don’t do that,” Geralt said. He was already playing fast and loose with the facts.

“You’re too late, it’s half written in my head. I will obviously leave out the part where you were sitting on the floor in a towel talking nonsense.”

“You know, someone’s already written a song about Geralt’s deeds,” said Gala. 

Jaskier gave her a blank look. “Yes. I wrote that. I write all the songs about Geralt.”

“Mmhmm,” said Gala, scrunching her nose. “There is just one thing,” she said to Geralt, while Jaskier almost visibly puffed up like an angry bird, “do you take bookings in advance?”

“Bookings?” Geralt asked, enjoying himself and hoping she would go soon so he could give Jaskier shit.

“Yes. I mean, that beast is very definitely dead. No one ever managed to kill it before you, only to stave it off until at dawn it sort of crumpled in on itself and disappeared, the stories say. So I very much hope that that’s the end of things, but just in case it isn’t, could I reserve you to come back in ten years’ time, just as a precaution?”

“I will try to remember,” said Geralt.

“Perfect,” she said. “It will be lovely to show you how things will be by then. I know you haven’t really seen my family at its best. Karel and I are hoping to do so much better.”

“I am sure you will,” Geralt said, because it was polite and because they could hardly do worse.

“Thank you,” she said. “So much to do. I can’t wait to get started.” She hurried out.

“I like her sister  _ so _ much better than her,” said Jaskier, “and I am  _ not _ just saying that because I popped her cherry.”

“The cat’s hers,” said Geralt, choosing to ignore the rest.

“What cat?”

“The cat that watched you in bed with the bride. And it’s deaf. That’s why it was ignoring you.”

“When did you have time to find that out?”

Geralt shrugged. “When did you learn to do bandages so well?”

“I told you I’m not preserved in amber when you don’t see me,” Jaskier said, snatching some bread and butter off the tray. “I was thinking, you know, if you ever saw reason and let me go with you on contracts, how could I be helpful, given I’m not much of a fighter and can’t risk injuring my hands? I went to a doctor and asked for some sort of field-medicine lessons. It was just a short course and it was a while ago so I don’t remember everything perfectly, but I was quite pleased with how I managed when I had to.”

“I’m still not bringing you with me, but I’m glad you did.”

“You could’ve died without me.”

“I wouldn’t have died. Probably just… passed out on the floor until people came back and found me.”

“Or died,” said Jaskier. “You know I was actually scared. I’ve never seen you so badly hurt.”

“That… that’s a long way from the most badly hurt I’ve been,” said Geralt. “I’m not preserved in amber when you don’t see me either.”

“I know. Every time we get back together you’ve got some new scabs or scars.”

“And I survive, and I find you again.” He leaned over and kissed him. 

“Your mouth tastes much better this morning,” Jaskier sighed. 

“Then something is beginning to go right.”

  


They left later in the afternoon, Geralt on Roach and Jaskier on foot, planning only to go as far as the village to spend the night. 

“How did your lute survive the fight?” Geralt asked, looking at the instrument slung on Jaskier’s back. “It doesn’t even look scratched.”

“Oh, I didn’t bring her to the wedding. I thought about it and decided not to risk it. Left her up in my room and tuned and played an old one I found in the house. I’d say I can’t believe you didn’t notice the difference but on the other hand I’m not surprised, you savage.” Jaskier turned and walked backward, looking up at him. “I mean, this is  _ my _ sun,” he said, pointing his thumb back over his shoulder. “You’re just a big, unmusical moon. Wearing a red cloak which looks absolutely bizarre on you.”

“It’s a good cloak. I’ll just dye it black.”

“Oh, is that what you do? You get second-hand clothes and dye them black?” Jaskier veered off to the side of the road where lacy white flowers on long stems were growing, picked one and swished it vaguely in the air as he walked.

“Sometimes.”

“Tomorrow we’re going to go somewhere I can get you a full suit of clothes, everything new, made to measure, made to last, black as the inside of a cat.”

“And I’ll destroy them.”

“Yes, obviously, within weeks. But until then you’ll be so comfortable and look so good!”

“Black as the inside of a cat?”

“It’s an expression. I’ve definitely heard it. It’s a thing.”

“Do you know that’s poison hemlock?”

“I thought it was wild carrot,” Jaskier said. He sniffed the flower, said “Urgh” and threw it into the ditch.

“Surprising given your enthusiasm for wildflowers. Buttercup. Chamomile.”

“Yes!” Jaskier brightened up. “Did you like it?”

Geralt was about to say that it was an embarrassment but something about Jaskier’s smile stopped him. Somehow he’d really thought Geralt would enjoy being the subject of that song, that he’d find it flattering or funny. And he remembered him singing it the night before, how he shone, how his voice and the bright, bouncing tune had made the evening and the guests feel joyous despite everything. How it seemed likely that even after what happened at midnight, they would still have that tune in their heads today, and weeks or months down the line he might be somewhere and hear a stranger whistling “Chamomile and Buttercup” because they were happy. How Jaskier’s songs followed him around like their composer, always seeking his attention.

“It was… catchy,” he said. “People were clearly enjoying it. And…” He cast around for something, because Jaskier’s eyes were shining and he didn’t want to stop there. “Do you know what, bard? I want to amend my review of your singing. It’s like ordering a pie and finding it has a completely different filling from what you ordered, but it’s unexpectedly delicious.”

Jaskier’s face went through about three shades of pink, his lips trembled and for a moment Geralt thought he was going to laugh in his face before he abruptly turned away and said with a sound in between a giggle and a sob, “Fuck you, now I’m going to cry.”

“Oh, come on,” Geralt said, laughing. 

“Fuck you very much,” said Jaskier with a chuckle, shaking his head and walking a bit faster. 

Geralt nudged Roach to match his pace and overtake him. Of her own accord she swung her head over and nose-butted Jaskier’s shoulder. “Roach says you’re being a baby,” said Geralt.

“Roach isn’t rude to me like you are,” said Jaskier. He scrubbed his sleeve across his eyes and sniffed hard and said, “Right, I’m back to normal.”

“I didn’t expect it to affect you like that.”

“Oh well, you know, I’m still tired from last night. And weddings make me sentimental. Even, you know, ones that result in an almost immediate annulment.”

“If you’re tired, get up behind.”

“Yeah, all right, thanks.” He clambered up and leaned against Geralt’s back, and Roach walked on. 


	4. A Summer Holiday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Geralt and Jaskier try to have a peaceful holiday together.  
> There are truly unrealistic amounts of talking in this one, but there is also some more sex, so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter I'm sort of trying to tie up loose ends/weave what happens in this story very loosely back into the already loose continuity of the Netflix series. I'm posting this the day the Season 2 promo pictures of Henry Cavill as Geralt were released (I found the new wig alluring, but I was rather taken aback by the sculpted armour), which makes it feel like the next season is racing to get here and invalidate what I wanted to imagine here. I know that's silly and it's not a serious worry in my life (it will always happen when you write fic in between seasons of an ongoing show), but anyway. There will probably be one more short bit of this taking place slightly after the season one final. 
> 
> One part of this chapter which I really just wrote to amuse myself and which may not have much point if you're not me is about the fabric dyeing; there was a post on Tumblr that I can't lay hands on right now talking about how an all-black outfit like Geralt's in actual mediaeval Europe/a fantasyland closely based on it would be extremely expensive to buy and hard to maintain because they didn't have colourfast black dyes, and speculating that he's actually using monster ichor or something that the average person doesn't have ready access to as either a black dye or a fixative. So I imagined some kind of spooky magic Vantablack dye the properties of which he cannot or will not explain.

Geralt didn’t really accept that he was what Jaskier called convalescent but he was conditionally prepared to accept that, purely in order to oblige Jaskier, he could take things at a slow pace. He lay in bed watching him get dressed. The only room they had been able to get for the night was small and dark with a low, sloping ceiling that they had both banged their heads on; the bed was narrow and wedged against the wall and really didn’t provide the space to have sex even if he had been feeling normal and hadn’t recently made his head bleed a bit again by banging it on a ceiling (fortunately with prompt attention it soon stopped). There wasn’t space either for two men to work around each other getting ready for the day. Jaskier hunched over his little mirror trying to shave by candlelight because the tiny, dirty window admitted so little sun, and swore when he got a nick on his chin that he demanded Geralt kiss better. 

“One convenient thing about this room, it’s infested with spiders,” he said, pulling down a wisp of cobweb from the ceiling and pressing it onto the nick as a bandage. “Well, I will go downstairs and order breakfast. Pop down when you’re ready. The day can only get better.” 

When Geralt went down to the main room of the tavern, it looked as if the day had already got better; Jaskier was sitting very upright at a table looking exceedingly pleased with himself. 

“You’re going to be very happy with me,” he said. “Fortune has smiled upon us.”

“That would make a change,” said Geralt, sitting down opposite him and tearing off a piece of bread from the loaf between them. “What happened?”

“I met an old friend, just leaving, and we got talking, and I said I was hoping to find somewhere pleasant and restful to stay for a few days, and he offered me the use of his uncle’s hunting lodge. It’s about a day’s ride from here, small, cosy, nestled into the edge of a pretty little forest that I am assured is only slightly haunted, has a wine cellar plus barrels of Cintran ale, and this is the special part, there is a natural hot spring there which feeds a sauna and an outdoor bath, the peak of relaxation.”

“What is this friend of yours? Another ‘patron?’” 

“Dissipated wastrel son of a noble house, a lovely person, a horrible disappointment to everyone except this uncle who rather likes him. He’s given me a key. All we have to do is leave it under a special rock when we leave. I couldn’t believe the luck. This is going to be great. You do want to go, don’t you?”

“Yes. Yes, I do, if it makes you happy.”

“You want to see how haunted the forest is, don’t you?”

Geralt shrugged. “Almost every forest is at least slightly haunted. The cellar sounds good.”

Jaskier gazed at him happily with his chin in his hand and his elbow in the butter. “You and I are going to have a good time,” he said. “No one to disturb us. We make our own time, answer to nobody and indulge in every whim.”

“Your elbow’s in the butter,” Geralt said. 

“Shit.” 

They spent a short time in a few shops provisioning before setting off. Jaskier, predictably, bought a lot of toiletries and oils for his skin and other purposes. Geralt bought salt. 

“What’s that for?” Jaskier asked, watching him put it in the saddlebag. “A scrub? Cooking? Killing a giant slug?”

“That works,” said Geralt, “but it’s messy.”

“Isn’t killing a giant slug inevitably messy? And of course you’ve killed a giant slug, I should know better than to be facetious. And I’m not expecting giant slugs at a rustic hunting lodge!”

“It’s a mordant,” said Geralt. “You use it to prepare cloth for dyeing. Alum, too. I’m dyeing these clothes, since we’ll have some time.”

“I hope that means you’re planning to be nude a lot while they dry,” said Jaskier. “Since they’re your only set.”

“I also bought a spare shirt and pants while you were trying to flirt your way to a discount in the apothecary shop.”

“It worked! Also, killjoy.”

“Well, they’ll need dyeing too,” Geralt said, and indulged him with a wink. 

Jaskier looked tickled pink and opened the other saddlebag. 

“What are you looking for?”

“To see if you’ve got me any treats. What’s all this stuff? You’ve got,” he sniffed and then sneezed slightly, “pepper and spices and what’s this? An onion? Garlic? Have you got culinary plans? Because I thought your cooking style was limited to things on sticks and things in a frying pan that doubles as a bludgeon.”

“That’s campfire cooking,” said Geralt, annoyed by the tone. “I’m not going to carry a kitchen everywhere I go but if I’m going to be somewhere with cooking pots I can make a decent stew.”

“You’re going to cook for me?”

“I’m going to cook for me and let you have some if you don’t annoy me too much.”

“Well, I’ll cook for you back. If there’s any left over from your dyeing operations, I can make terrific salt-crusted fish. And mulled wine. And… scrambled eggs, my repertoire isn’t huge. I usually sing for my supper instead of cook it.”

“I know,” said Geralt dryly. He was mildly surprised to hear Jaskier could cook properly; he’d assumed that before he’d travelled with him and been required to help or go hungry, he hadn’t known how to boil water. “Stop rooting through the supplies and let’s go.”

The estimate of a day’s ride was conservative; they reached the place Jaskier had been directed to about mid-afternoon. It was a very spruce and attractive little building, if your definition of little was generous. A haze of steam rose from behind it. 

“Not exactly rustic,” said Geralt, who had been picturing more of a snug little cabin and quietly looking forward to it. The lodge had two storeys and two chimneys. 

“This is rich-man’s rustic,” said Jaskier. “The kind where you bring only one or two servants along instead of your whole damn retinue, and think you’re roughing it. Look, nice little stable for Roach, she’ll be snug as a bug.” He slid down from behind Geralt and went to open the front door. “Besides, you live in a perpetual state of roughing it unless I take you somewhere nice. Why would I bring you somewhere only one step up from ordinary?” He went inside and Geralt followed after giving Roach a pat and a promise to see to her soon. “Oh, this is nice!”

The rustic element seemed to be that you walked directly into one big room that comprised a kitchen based around one hearth, a large table and benches, and then around the other hearth were settles and cushions, a place to relax and drink. All that was missing was a few tired but happy dogs sprawled on the rug. There was a lot of space and everything was very clean and bright. There were hunting trophies on the walls and the various racks of antlers, tusks and horns looked as if they were regularly polished. It was completely quiet, no sign of habitation although everything was ready for it. 

“They must have a caretaker who comes in from time to time to keep the place tidy,” said Jaskier. 

“What are they going to say if they come in and we’re here?” It didn’t worry him but it seemed like a hole in the plan. 

“I’ll just explain,” said Jaskier confidently. “I’m going to investigate the bedrooms.” He pattered away up the staircase at the rear of the big room, while Geralt was inspecting the kitchen fireplace, and a few moments later called out, “D’you like a bed with curtains or without?”

Geralt climbed the stairs and found that the upstairs had a hallway and partition walls; the first doorway he looked through was a simple but comfortable-looking bunk room, the next was more decorative and boasted a large tester bed with tapestry curtains, and the next contained an even larger bed without curtains but with Jaskier lying in the middle of it with his arms and legs outstretched like a starfish to prove he couldn’t even touch the sides. 

“I pick this one,” he said. “Sorry, taking over that decision. It’s even more comfortable than the Contessa’s and it’s phewge.”

“Phewge?” Geralt repeated, sitting down beside him. 

“So huge you say ‘Phew!’ when you see it. I’ll demonstrate if you take your pants off.”

He shifted onto his hands and knees astride Jaskier’s body and leant down to kiss him lightly. “I have to take care of Roach before I take care of you.”

“Pricktease,” said Jaskier cheerfully. “Isn’t this going to be great?”

“It does look good.” He gave him one more quick kiss and got off the bed before he got too tempted to neglect his duty. 

Jaskier followed Geralt downstairs chattering about the last time he’d stayed in a place like this and how drunk the hunting party had got and someone had wandered off into the woods for an al fresco pee and never come back and they’d heard huge footsteps and wild laughter in the night and in the morning found the missing man curled up on the grass outside, naked, not a mark on him but all his hair had fallen out and as far as Jaskier knew it had never grown back. He couldn’t remember what happened at all. 

“What sort of thing does that, do you think? Just depilates a man without mercy?” he asked as Geralt removed Roach’s saddle and blanket and began brushing her down. 

“Never heard of it,” said Geralt. “Could be some rare mutation. How drunk were you all, again?”

“Oh, we were plastered,” said Jaskier, clambering up to sit on top of the wall between stalls. “But he was still completely hairless when we were sober. All over. Eyelashes and all.” It had been one of the more unsettling things he’d seen, though clearly mild by witcher standards. 

“Some forest spirits have a funny sense of humour,” said Geralt. “Benign but weird. They don’t bother me and I don’t bother them.” He was working smoothly and methodically, with the efficiency of long habit, and Jaskier quietly enjoyed watching his hands, his arms, his back. He looked odd in a white shirt and it reminded him how much black clothes seemed like part of Geralt. It would still be great fun to dress him up in style again but he would want him to go back to black in the end. 

“Not really your department,” said Jaskier. “Hey.”

“Hmmm?”

“If this place doesn’t feel like your department either, we could pretend to be different people. Like… I’m the spoiled young nobleman who wants to see life and you’re the… the stern but loyal manservant who conceals a secret passion for the young master.”

Geralt gave him a deeply sceptical look. Maybe that was too detailed of a scenario. 

“Or we can just go in the sauna and pretend we’re strangers and you’re picking me up in a bathhouse.”

“I don’t need to pretend.”

“It can be fun, though. Or I’m the lost traveller half frozen in a terrible storm and you’re the, um, the hermit who’s withdrawn from the world with a broken heart and you take me in and warm me up in your bed.” 

“Where are you getting these from?” Geralt asked. 

“I have a great imagination. I love that very low-key smile of yours. It’s mostly in the eyes, but I know the look by now. You’re having fun. And you’re just about done with Roach — you look great, Roach, very glossy.”

“The other thing I need to take care of before you,” said Geralt, “is what we’re going to eat tonight.”

“You’re the rugged woodsman bringing back a brace of fat rabbits to… uhh… I haven’t decided who I am in this one. Oh, the fugitive prince whose kingdom has fallen, hiding out with you while my enemies pursue me and meet dreadful fates in the haunted forest.”

“Why am I a servant and a hermit and a woodsman in all these? You don’t make me into a prince. Is that imaginative?”

“I would make you into a  _ king, _ ” Jaskier assured him. “King Geralt the Magnificent, golden crown on silver hair.”

“I don’t have the taste for blood and power to be a king. Or for politics.”

“Oh, I know, but you’d look hot with a crown on and that’s the main thing for my purposes.”

Geralt gave a last stroke to Roach’s back and patted her firmly. She stepped further into the stall and investigated the empty manger. There was a small hayloft above and Jaskier said “Allow me” and clambered up to push a bale down. Geralt hoisted it over to the manger easily and cut the twine with a knife. Roach settled in contentedly. 

“Rabbits, you said?” Geralt looked up at Jaskier sitting on the edge of the loft, his feet dangling.

“It doesn’t have to be rabbits. They just seemed easy. And good for your stew aspirations.”

“So they’re not part of some strangely specific fantasy you’ve had brewing until you got me alone out here,” said Geralt, deadpan. Jaskier stuck his tongue out at him. “Save that for later, you’ll need it,” he said, and walked out. 

“I just got hit on, Roach,” said Jaskier. “You saw it too.”

Experience had long since proven that it was not at all a good idea for Jaskier to accompany Geralt while hunting for food. He couldn’t  _ not _ chat to him, edible animals were a lot shyer and more easily scared off than monsters, and Geralt got hangry. So, on the road he would stay by the campfire and write songs and tell stories to Roach, and sometimes stare soulfully at the sky and wonder what he was doing with his life and whether he would ever feel satisfied and if he would be utterly forgotten and alone when he died, but not too often. Then Geralt would generally come back with something bloody and convert it into recognisable if basic food and everything felt all right again. 

Here he went exploring the lodge a bit more. Everything was clearly kept very nicely in readiness. There was a larder with pretty much everything in it that wouldn’t spoil as long as it was dry, like flour and sugar and hard cheese, and Geralt could have saved his money on salt and spices because there were plenty. There weren’t any of the more perishable sort of things like butter, but there was a crock of lard so the larder lived up to its name. He poked the lard and said “Yuk.” Clearly if you wanted bread you had to somehow make it happen yourself and he didn’t really want bread that much. He had known Geralt to make a kind of bannock type of thing in a pan or with dough twisted round a stick; maybe he’d do that. 

There was a large trapdoor in the floor that let you down into the cellar. He lit a candle and went down the stairs and wandered around looking at labels and saying “Ooh” or “Hmm.” There were some extremely fine vintages here that would probably be missed but he was sure they wouldn’t be grudged some of the lesser but still very enjoyable drops. He chose a few bottles and took them upstairs, opened the most appealing red and found a decanter so it could breathe. This felt like a night to get good and drunk, as long as they didn’t go wandering off and getting turned bald or worse. He was really pretty industrious, he thought, going back and forth to the woodpile outside and lighting fires in both hearths. When he’d done all that and Geralt still wasn’t back he went outside and wandered around picking dandelion greens, found what he was confident was real wild carrot (because the root smelled like a carrot as opposed to disgusting), and even a surprise bounty of black morels, which made him upgrade himself from “pretty industrious” to “highly productive, deserves praise and handjobs in the bath.” 

“I’ve actually got quite good at foraging,” he told Roach when he went into the stable to give her some wild carrots (it never hurt to curry favour with the boss). “Only took me a few more years than I care to think about. And I only poisoned us once, and we only got the shits for two days, so I think that’s a pretty good record.” Geralt had refused to speak to him for almost two days after that, until Jaskier managed to provoke him by pretending to have no idea how to light a fire and doing everything as badly as possible while asking “Like this? Like this?” until Geralt gave a guttural growl of frustration and ordered him about until they both felt better. These days, he liked to think he could have made up the quarrel differently. 

Roach took the wild carrots from his palm with soft whiffling lips and snorted at him gently. 

“I like to think that in your own quiet way you’ve always supported our relationship. Put in a good word for me where you could. A good whinny.” He patted her neck. “I’m so damn  _ happy _ with him, Roach. I want to tell everyone I know, but he’s a  _ private _ grumpy bastard, so I hold it in a little. But you know it all, so it’s okay. I can just tell you, I really, really love him and it has been getting  _ better.  _ How’s that? Sometimes I think, surely it gets boring. I think, it only works because we see each other for a bit at a time and fuck like bunnies while we can and then we’re both off again. If you added up the time we’ve spent together it would be pretty short, so that doesn’t mean much. All that sounds reasonable. But I just don’t believe it.” He gave a happy sigh. “Now, you know I don’t believe in finding The One and living happily ever after. It just sounds good in a song. But I do think Geralt, for me, is the closest real thing to a One. Like… like if I had a home, but I travelled for a large part of the year, but that was still most definitely home and the place I would be most comfortable and glad to get back to, always. Truly always.” Roach whinnied and pushed her nose against his shoulder. “Yeah, all right, I was getting a bit starry-eyed and mushy, it’s silly at my age. Thanks for listening, old girl. If only you could talk, eh?”

“If she could talk, she might say, ‘We’re not alone.’”

Jaskier’s head snapped round, startled, and he saw Geralt in the stable doorway, looking at him oddly; he didn’t often see that kind of dark softness in his eyes, other than in a post-orgasmic sort of way when it was understandable. 

“Eavesdroppers hear no good of themselves, you know,” he said. 

Geralt strode over to him, grabbed his shoulders and kissed him almost hard enough to bruise. After a brief struggle about how they were going to put their arms around each other, when neither could stop kissing the other, Jaskier ended up pinned up against the wall, Geralt’s hands under his bottom and kneading the cheeks, his tongue in his mouth and his breath hot on his face. He clung to him and ground against him and wished to be immediately fucked right on the spot, if there were some magic way for that not to hurt like hell. Geralt pushed his knee up under him to free one of his hands and yanked a hooked finger down the front of his jacket, popping buttons. 

“Right here? Really? You animal. Here, let me…”. Jaskier fumbled their pants undone, pressed their cocks together and rubbed them between his palms. He could feel Geralt hardening up in slow surges, moaning low in his throat. 

“Been needing this since I saw you,” Geralt breathed. 

“When?”

“Fountain, day before yesterday.”

“I thought that was  _ yesterday.  _ Wish you’d’ve come outside with me during the reception. I wanted to blow you. That’s one thing I still want to do with you and we haven’t — take you away from somewhere with people, blow you, bring you back and act like nothing happened but  _ I  _ know how you’re feeling.”

“And it wouldn’t be the same now.”

“Well, if you’re still opposed to pretending…”

“I don’t think I  _ can.”  _ Geralt sounded… flustered, Jaskier thought, as if he was at the edge of what he could manage mentally in this state and couldn’t focus on one more thing. It was pretty cute. 

“You don’t have to act it out with me, just imagine it for starters. Let me down.” He got his feet on the floor and pushed Geralt round with his back to the wall. “So just remember the reception, when I came over to you for a break, and pretend you  _ weren’t  _ completely immune to my charm because of your fierce sense of duty.”

“Did I look immune? I was half hard just talking to you, you looked so good. I told you I was going to fuck you as soon as I got the chance. Where the hell did you get immune from?”

“The fact you  _ didn’t go with me.  _ So just you imagine you said ‘yes please’ and we slipped out of there all full of furtive excitement. We’re somewhere just outside in the dark and we can still hear all the noise going on in there and we don’t give a shit about where we’re supposed to be because we just want each other, right?” He pushed Geralt’s shoulders back against the wall with a bump and kissed him. 

“Right,” said Geralt, still looking lightly bemused. 

“Right.” Jaskier sank onto his knees, gazing up at Geralt. It was easy to imagine the thrill he’d have felt leading Geralt out of the side door he’d already spied out for the purpose, all warm and breathless and feeling not just wanted but irresistible. He had moved a whole hall full of people into laughter, into dancing, into feeling joy in the face of dread, so he was already feeling overflowing with life and power, and just imagine if on top of that he’d been sneaking out with the most gorgeous man there because said man just could not keep his hands off him. 

He’d feel Geralt’s hands on his head, stroking his hair like now, and hear him grunt and sigh when he felt his tongue, he’d softly lick all over his cock before sucking him in deep and hard, sliding the tight grip of his hand up and down the thick shaft as it got slick with spit. Geralt was panting a little already, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue, his eyes closed and his brows drawn together as if in fierce concentration. That would be just the same. Things were different, of course, Geralt wasn’t in his heavy blacks with armour and swords strapped on, just the mismatched shirt and pants he’d got second-hand, and his body showed the marks he’d got later in the night, with a big blue-black bruise on his hip and the bandage around his thigh showing as his trousers slipped down. They were in this quiet place that smelled of hay and horse, it was just getting dark outside, he was drifting out of the pretend memory into deep happiness at being exactly where he was with Geralt’s cock in his mouth and his own cock in his hand and both of them throbbing with pleasure. 

He pulled him deeper and had to reluctantly back off a bit for fear of gagging; it wasn’t fair that he  _ wanted _ to swallow dick so badly but had a delicate throat that wouldn’t co-operate. No time to think about that, just squeeze, stroke and suck, his mouth feeling more and more wet and hot, precum slipping out, working on that extra-sensitive spot Geralt had just under the head, rubbing himself faster at the sounds Geralt was making. He lost his rhythm when he came and had to stop and pant a bit. 

“Are you okay?” Geralt asked; he could hear the strain in his voice, caring about him but also right on the edge of something he urgently needed. 

“I’m  _ so _ okay,” he said, and sucked it in again, just a few more gliding strokes bringing Geralt over the edge and feeling him shudder with release and joy. 

After a few long moments clutching Jaskier’s shoulders tightly and moaning faintly, Geralt pulled his hips back and slid himself down the wall to sit on the floor with his legs splayed out, Jaskier still crouching between them, and gathered him into his arms for a deep, somewhat sloppy kiss. 

“If you’d done that then? I couldn’t have walked back in. I would be useless,” Geralt breathed against his cheek. 

“You’d have recovered. You still had a job to do, right?”

“The way you use your mouth is incredible.”

“Well, I do try extra hard because it’s for you.” He stroked Geralt’s hair back from his forehead. “And there aren’t many people I’m so excited to suck off that I can come at the same time.”

“Oh, is that why you needed to stop? I’m glad, I thought you might have choked or something.”

“Nope, rubbed it out, one hand for you and one hand for me.”

“Well, aren’t you versatile.”

Jaskier chuckled at the tailored praise and hugged him tight. “Did imagining that make it better?”

“I hardly imagined anything, what was really happening was so good. And when I do imagine you, when we’re apart, it’s always you in a bed with me, where we can be completely comfortable. Plain compared with your fantasies, I’m sure.”

“I imagine you undressing slowly and showing off for me. Or doing things that don’t work in real life, like ripping off my pants and fucking me straight away, no preparation. Fantasy you gets pretty rough with me, but because it’s a fantasy it just stays thrilling and I don’t actually get broken ribs or anything. Or fucking you in front of a crowd of people. And they’re just  _ impressed _ because we’re so good at it. Or there’s one where —“

“There’s a lot of these, isn’t there?”

“Yes — or by magic there’s a group of yous and you all spoil or alternatively ravish me together, or vice versa, there’s a group of mes, but we’re all  _ me,  _ and we do you together and I can feel it all, or you and I travel around providing personal services to frustrated and lonely ladies of high rank, as a team.”

“I didn’t know you thought that much about me when I’m not there. I thought you were focused on other people.”

“Even if you love visiting new places and go out looking for more, you’re still going to dream of home.”

Geralt hugged him close to his chest. “I don’t know why that meant so much to me, but it did.”

“I’m glad you came in when I was telling Roach something so nice. But if she could talk, I think she might also say come on, you two, not right in front of me.  _ She’s  _ not impressed.”

“Sorry, Roach,” said Geralt. “And I’m sorry for, I think, getting rabbit blood on the seat of your pants.”

“Oh, gross, Geralt!”

“I’d just dropped them off in the kitchen and wondered where you’d got to, and I hadn’t bothered to wash my hands yet.”

“Well, get off me so I can soak them before it sets.” He got up, quite irritated despite the afterglow. 

“I said I’m sorry,” Geralt said, getting up and pulling up his pants. “This is one reason why I wear black. Doesn’t show bloodstains.”

“Well, it’s not good enough,” Jaskier huffed, walking back to the house. 

“You‘ve got cum on them too, anyway,” Geralt pointed out, following him. “Down the leg.”

“That’s mine! It’s not rabbit cum, I’d be very concerned if it was.” He heard Geralt give a kind of cough of laughter. “That turned weird, didn’t it?”

“I mean, were you implying that  _ I  _ wanked off a rabbit, to get it on my hands?”

“Let’s not talk in such terms about someone we’re going to eat.”

“You’re right, it seems disrespectful.”

“You’re in a good mood, all chatty and jokey.”

“I wonder why.”

He managed to sponge out the varying stains with cold water without having to soak the pants, which was just as well because he was pretty sure they’d both shrink and fade. The most beautiful fabrics were rarely the most durable, but he had his priorities. He hung them over a chair by the fireplace to dry. 

“So you’re going around in just your shirt for the rest of the evening?” Geralt asked. He was at the kitchen table, skinning and cleaning the rabbits on a board with brisk efficiency. 

“Yep. Lucky you. Also, I’m not bothering when it’s getting dark, but tomorrow I need to go back and find the three buttons you’ve ripped off my jacket in your depraved lust,” Jaskier said. He poured himself some wine, pulled up another chair and sat down with one knee drawn up to observe. “Did you see my contributions to the meal?” he asked, nodding at the bowls he’d put them in on the table. 

“Was that you?”

“No, it was the salad fairy. I used the excellent skills as a forager that I’ve developed through my wanderings with you.”

“You got the wild carrots right this time.”

“Good, or I’d have poisoned Roach and then you actually would have a valid reason to never speak to me again and my heart would break.”

“Don’t even joke about it,” Geralt said, gathering up a little bundle of rabbit offcuts and skins to throw away. 

“You know I wouldn’t. The smell is a giveaway once you pay attention to it, and I’m sure about the mushrooms too, because false morels look like horrible little gnome brains.”

“I trust you,” said Geralt. 

“If you weren’t a witcher, you’d have been a good butcher, I think,” said Jaskier, watching him neatly and quickly joint the rabbits. “Also ends in -tcher, not such a leap.”

“Well, I’ve been called a butcher and I don’t enjoy it,” said Geralt. “It wasn’t a compliment on my skills.”

“Sorry.” Belatedly he remembered that nasty business in Blaviken, which he’d heard about from others while gathering material for lyrics but which Geralt had never discussed with him. He didn’t believe for a minute it had actually gone down the way his informants had said, because intentionally endangering a young girl or murdering a woman (even if she was a real bad egg) was definitely not like Geralt, but clearly something had gone badly wrong there and he didn’t want to talk about it. Not that he wanted to talk about much beyond the here and now or things they’d experienced together, but that was all right because Jaskier didn’t really like to get into deep background either. 

“That’s all right. Anyway, I doubt you would have felt inspired to write songs about a butcher and pester him for years with your devoted friendship.”

“It depends. I like a good sausage,” Jaskier said, and winked at him. 

“Instead of just sitting there looking decorative, get me a drink.”

“You winked back. You’re encouraging me. Wine or ale?”

“Ale.” He carried on seasoning the rabbits while Jaskier went down to the cellar, and when he came back with the full mug he was chopping up the onions. 

“No tears, impressive,” said Jaskier. “Are you just too tough to cry?”

“Useful side effect,” said Geralt, taking the mug and sipping. “Thank you. If you hadn’t been a bard you could have been a decent barmaid.”

“Well, that’s fairly rude.”

“Well, they both begin with ba- and end in -d,” said Geralt. “Apparently that’s what matters.”

“Were you working that up the whole time I was downstairs? Such a quick wit.” He slung himself back into the chair. “Why only decent? Obviously right now I’m indecent but I like to think I’d be good at my imaginary job.”

“There’s too much head on top,” Geralt said, showing him the froth. 

“You… are trying to set up a line for me about giving you head, and I salute you for it.” Jaskier raised his glass. “You’re getting so good at banter. I knew you had it in you once you loosened up a bit. Ha! Unplanned double entendre, good for me.”

“Too quick for me,” said Geralt, starting on the carrots. 

“I’m adapting my lyrics, I need to work it in that Chamomile is the butcher’s apprentice and Buttercup is the barmaid. That song is just going to be a mass of code for jokes we’ve had. I find it very satisfying.”

“Does she blow him in a stable?”

“Not  _ explicitly,  _ I need to think of just the right sausage-eating innuendo.”

“At first I thought that song was a joke  _ about  _ me. I like it a lot better as a joke  _ with  _ me.”

_ He’s a sensitive soul, isn’t he? I forget sometimes.  _ “Rest assured that when I want to make fun of you, I’ll do it to your face. And even when I was furious with you and had deeply, justifiably hurt feelings, I never did a song about what a prick you were.” He topped up his glass. “Because after all, I still loved you.”

“Lucky for me. You could have murdered me in song like what’s his name Marx.”

“You were just a prick, he’s a hack. What are you doing now?” Geralt was heating up a pan. 

“It tastes better if you brown the meat a bit first.”

“I really like watching you cook. It makes me feel taken care of.”

“Make yourself useful and slice the mushrooms.”

“But I’m only decorative,” Jaskier said, but he got up and did it. “This is downright domestic,” he said. “I’ve done a lot of different things with a lot of different lovers, but believe it or not, cooking dinner together is new.”

“You’ve cooked dinner with me lots of times,” Geralt said, turning the rabbit pieces over with a fork.

“I mean in a proper kitchen. I’ve cooked  _ for _ a lover. I’ve cooked  _ with _ friends. This particular variation is what’s new. I rather like it. Feels safe and warm.”

“Hmmm,” said Geralt, in a quietly affirmative way. 

After some time, the ingredients were all in the pot and placed over a fire low enough to keep the stew simmering. 

“How long till it’s ready?” Jaskier asked. 

“Depends. Until the meat’s tender and the whole thing thickens and smells good,” said Geralt. “I just check on it from time to time.”

“Can you leave it long enough to come and have a look at the bath? I haven’t checked it out yet but my friend talked it up.”

There was a back door that led out to a fenced yard. As soon as you were out there the steam was noticeable, along with a slightly sulphurous smell. There was a trim little wooden hut that must be the sauna, and a large, oblong kind of pond set into the ground and lined with slate tiles, lit by the second-hand lamplight and firelight through the lodge windows 

“I was picturing more of a little natural pool,” Jaskier said, “but this is nice too, just not quite so pretty. And probably much less muddy.” It looked like the hot spring water kept flowing in from a spout at one end and out through a narrow drain at the other, going under the fence. “See, that’s convenient, if we’d had this the other night I wouldn’t have had to keep changing your water. How are you feeling tonight? You’re black and blue in places.” He pulled up Geralt’s shirt and inspected his back. 

“I’m fine,” said Geralt. 

“You’ve got to be sore.”

“Sore is fine. Don’t fuss over me. A warm soak will take care of it.” He pulled the shirt down. 

“If I’m ever that messed up, promise you’ll fuss over me, because I like that sort of thing. How’s your head? Let me check. That’s a mighty scab.”

“Leave it alone,” said Geralt, swatting his hand away. 

“Well, you already knocked it off once on the inn ceiling. I thought we were in for another bloodletting.”

“I put pressure on it straight away so it’s  _ fine,  _ Jaskier, you’re getting on my nerves.”

“All right.” He felt a bit hurt. 

“Don’t make that sad face, I want you to enjoy being here, not waste your time worrying about me. You were all excited about this, you set it up.”

“What, you think you’re spoiling it for me?”

Geralt looked vaguely mutinous. 

“You could spoil it for me by being a grumpy arsehole. You could spoil it for me by leaving early. You’re not spoiling it by not being in perfect condition. Don’t be a fool.” He stepped closer, put his hands on Geralt’s chest as if about to kiss him, then gave him a quick hard shove to send him backwards into the water; Geralt grabbed his arm and pulled him in with him. They hit the water with a crash and at first the water was shockingly hot and he thought they might be in danger. He bobbed up and gulped air and found that he was not after all being boiled. Geralt was laughing at him. 

“I let you do that,” he said. “I saw you look past me and think of it.”

“Well good for you!” Jaskier said, and splashed him in the face. Geralt avoided it by the simple means of ducking under the water and gliding past him. He climbed out and stood looking down as Jaskier. 

“Had enough?” he asked. 

“I just need to stare a bit, because soaking wet clothes and literally giving off steam is a hell of a look on you.”

“Come on,” said Geralt, offering him a hand and pulling him out. His smile faltered a bit and he looked Jaskier up and down with close attention. “A wet shirt and nothing else suits you too.”

“But you can’t do anything about that now. Your cooking might burn,” said Jaskier, and sauntered back into the house. He peeled off the shirt and dropped it on the floor with a slap and said over his shoulder, “I remember a linen press upstairs, I’m going to see about towels.” He was not chased upstairs and tackled onto a bed, which would have been nice but maybe still too energetic for a healing Geralt, so he located towels, dried himself off and wrapped one around his waist, and threw another down the stairs for Geralt. 

He felt it would be a little bit too free with other people’s property to rip up a sheet to replace Geralt’s wet bandages, but poking around showed there was also a well-stocked medicine chest in the bunk room, and somehow he felt okay about using bandages that were already made up as such. He carried them and a jar of ointment downstairs, where Geralt, likewise towel-clad, had apparently wrung out the wet clothes and hung them on the fireside settles. The place was looking more and more lived-in, not to say messy. 

“If you can stand it,” said Jaskier, “sit down and let me sort you out.”

“I can do my own leg,” said Geralt, “but you could help with the underarm one.”

“Got it.” He thought he did a nice neat job, figure-eighting the bandage around under Geralt’s other arm and above it, on one side of his neck. The wound was surrounded by red and purple bruising, but clean and scabbing over well. “Please note this doesn’t spoil anything. If I was having to deal with a load of pus, that’d be different. But then I’d also be trying to find you a doctor.”

“I’m going to check on the stew,” was all Geralt said, but he gave Jaskier’s shoulder a squeeze as he got up. 

It took a while. Jaskier worked his way through the wine, some of which also went into the pot, and refilled Geralt’s ale, and wandered up and downstairs fossicking through and reporting on everything he found. 

“They’ve got some dirty books. Who pays to have naughty nun stories illuminated and bound in calfskin?”

“Does this hat make me look important?”

“This dressing gown definitely makes me look important. I feel like royalty. Try it on, be King Geralt.”

In the end they had an excellent meal, rich and savoury, the meat falling off the bones and the liquid sopped up with a kind of variation on camp bread Geralt had invented using flour and ale to give it some yeast. It was still pretty flat and dense but it was satisfying. The dandelion greens set it all off with a refreshing earthy bitterness. 

“That,” said Jaskier, “is simply one of the nicest meals I have ever had, and I attribute only about half of that to a combination of being quite tipsy and being in love with the cook. I know about sposh — posh grub, all right? I’ve been fêted by royalty and, and pampered by elegant women of independent means. This could hold its head up among any of those meals. Sdelicious.” He burped discreetly. “Got to sing for my supper. Pay you back. Where’s m’lute?”

“You put it upstairs and tucked it into the tester bed with its head on the pillow,” Geralt reminded him patiently. He seemed to be in a mellow state of mind, not drunk as such but ale-assisted. 

“Oh, well, I don’t want to disturb her. Hey! You admit she’s got a head.”

“I don’t know the technical term. You’re weird about your lute.”

“You’re weird about your horse.”

“You were having a heart-to-heart with my horse this afternoon.”

“And she was very sympathetic. We’ve frequently discussed you behind your back.”

Geralt got up and leaned across the table to him. “Come on, then. You want to go in this bath, don’t you?”

“Yes please. Let me just get the soap — and open a new bottle.”

The night had turned very cold, the sky cloudless and deeply dark, the waning moon icy white and the stars like a divine jeweller’s handful of diamonds scattered across a black velvet cloth. 

“Ooh,” said Jaskier, looking up, which fell short of his professional standards of eloquence but was heartfelt. He stood swaying slightly, bottle of wine in one hand and bar of soap in the other, forgetful for a moment of the cold striking through his skin and raising goosebumps. 

“Come on,” said Geralt, practically, yanking the crumpled towel off him in passing as he got into the water. He sighed contentedly at the heat and glided on his back across the bath. 

“Right,” said Jaskier vaguely. He put soap and bottle down on the tiles and slipped in, then immediately scrambled back out and panted a few moments, skin flushed and steaming, until he lowered himself back in and found that this time it was tolerable. Geralt was floating on his back, looking up at the stars, so he tried floating alongside him, their hands brushing in the water. He felt Geralt’s fingers stroke the cup of his palm and skim up the inside of his wrist before sliding back down to interlace with his. He closed his eyes and held tight, palm to palm. He felt dizzy and floaty and beautiful and strange. He was aware that he was pretty drunk and that being immersed in hot water was only increasing the effect. 

He felt the water moving, Geralt moving beside him, and turned towards him, sinking down and feeling arms wrap around him. They stood pressed together in chest-deep water and Geralt kissed him slowly and deeply. He stroked Geralt’s cheeks and his hair and felt Geralt’s hands travel down his back to cup his bottom and lift him, easily buoyed up by the water, so that Geralt was looking up at him. That took his breath away, as simple as it was. Geralt looking up at him, with his pale hair catching the moonlight and his eyes dark in the night and his whole expression ardent and loving and hopeful and somehow deeply  _ calm _ . It seemed to say all at once “I love you” and “I want you” and “I  _ have _ you,” with perfect confidence. 

Maybe it was just as well he couldn’t find words to answer that. He could only gaze back, and stroke Geralt’s hair, and hope that something like the same feeling came through to Geralt. 

“Thank you,” Geralt said quietly.

“You’re welcome, but what for?”

“Bringing me here. Being here with me.”

“Thank you for coming.”

There was a moment’s sweet stillness before Geralt’s lips twitched and Jaskier gave a small snort of muffled laughter. “Okay,” he said, smiling, “I’m glad we  _ both _ ruined that beautiful moment by having dirty, horny minds.” He kissed Geralt, then complained, “It’s so hard to kiss and smile at the same time but you’re making me so happy I can’t stop. And I love your smile so much, and I still can’t believe how much I get to see it now. I feel like you  _ give _ me your smile like you give me a kiss.”

“Then am I doing both at the same time?”

“I don’t know, you could be.”

“For me it’s nearly the opposite. You smile so easily. But there are times like just before then, when you look at me, no smile, just… just you, with nothing in between us.” That brought him another deep, soft, lingering kiss. 

“I honestly intended to spend a nice long time out here soaking and drinking and smooching,” Jaskier said, “but now I find I just want to get squeaky clean and get you into bed.”

“Getting clean first is important to you, isn’t it?” Privately Geralt thought Jaskier was much too fussy about it, but it was the kind of thing he’d humour because the payoff was so good. 

“Makes everything nicer.”

“I actually like the smell of your sweat.”

“Oh, wow, okay. Have I been making a mistake trying to be fresh as a daisy for you? Do you want me a little more grimy?”

“You don’t need to be dirty. Just sweaty. Like you were the other night. You wanted to take me outside and blow me, I wanted to take you outside, bend you over and fuck you, then bring you back with jelly legs and wet sweat patches under your arms and down your chest and back.”

“Holy shit, Geralt,” Jaskier said with a shaky giggle. “Well, that sounds pretty fast and rough, so I think I’d have jelly legs  _ and  _ a very sore bum, but it could have been worth it.”

“I’d still use enough oil, I wanted to be rough, not cruel.”

“It’s the fast part. Were you feeling so aggressive because you were tormented by jealousy, or was it just a reaction to how hot I was, in all senses?”

“Some of each. I’m not proud of it.” He was wondering if he should have said it now. 

“I don’t care. You didn’t do anything bad. You still feeling aggressive tonight?”

“No, tonight I’m very relaxed.”

“Probably best. You don’t have stitches to burst but getting too energetic might reopen a wound.”

Geralt made an impatient sound. “Stop reminding me I’m hurt. I haven’t forgotten.” Did Jaskier think his injuries didn’t hurt any more just because he wasn’t limping and whimpering? He was sore in half a dozen places and there was no danger of them slipping his mind (although the ale and the hot bath were both soothing). If Jaskier had been feeling like this he would presumably have been curled into a ball under a blanket piteously asking for a peeled grape because the skins were too tough for him in his enfeebled state, so he probably had no idea. Geralt wanted to ignore the injuries, which was different from forgetting about them; it meant he had some control over the situation. 

“I’m trying to be considerate,” said Jaskier, “but clearly I shouldn’t.” He didn’t seem seriously annoyed; he said it with a smirk. 

“Good, I don’t want you to.”

“Shall I poke your bruises instead? I’m eager to please,” Jaskier said with great sarcastic politeness. 

“You don’t need to take it that far, but I appreciate the offer,” Geralt said, the same. 

“Ha. So, I propose we have a drink, we wash ourselves or each other up, and we retire for the evening, and you can keep your promise and fuck me with whatever level of vigour you feel equal to.”

Geralt nodded. “Good plan.” He let Jaskier down and moved to the side of the pool, where he picked up the wine bottle, had a good deep swig, and then raised it in a kind of toast and said, “Go ahead.”

“Oh, so you can watch me? Right you are. However, I’m in a hurry so this is the quick and functional kind of wash rather than the slow and sultry kind.” He boosted himself onto the side of the bath and picked up his soap. 

“Makes no difference to me,” Geralt said. He leaned his elbows on the tiles and watched appreciatively. It might even be better this way, he thought, because not only was Jaskier not trying to put on a show, but his real eagerness and impatience showed in every movement. His face was flushed because of the heat, which made him look rosy-cheeked and boyish, and there was just something funny and paradoxically hot about the entirely practical and thorough way he touched himself with soapy hands. His cock was noticeably perking up as he rubbed between his buttocks and he flicked Geralt a little smile over his shoulder before hopping back in the water with a splash and an expanding circle of soap suds. 

He bobbed back up, slicking his wet hair back with his hands, and said, “I’m clean enough to eat off. Hurry up.” He took the bottle from Geralt’s hand and managed to drop it. Billows of crimson spread through the water. “Shit, it looks like we killed something.”

“Just find the bottle before it breaks and there’s real blood in the water,” Geralt advised. “You would be the one to step on it.” Jaskier stuck his tongue out at him and ducked down to search. Geralt pushed himself out of the water — slight increase of pain under the arm, maybe he wouldn’t do that again for a little while — and found the soap. Jaskier was clearly having trouble finding the bottle, although the cloud of wine was quickly dispersing; he kept bobbing up for air and diving again, with little flashes of moonlit buttocks briefly on display. Geralt watched that appreciatively while washing himself. Jaskier surfaced with a cry of triumph and the bottle in hand as Geralt was leaving the water for the second time, more gently via the steps they had previously overlooked at one end of the bath. 

“Wait for me,” he said, floundering after him. A gust of cold wind reached them just as he got out and made him yelp; Geralt shivered too, and got bumped aside by Jaskier scuttling into the house ahead of him. When he got inside the only sign of Jaskier was wet footprints across the floor and up the stairs. From above he heard a thump, a curse and then a dignified cry of “Could you please bring up a light?”

He carried up a candle lit from the kitchen fire and found Jaskier sitting in the middle of the largest bed wrapped up in about three towels and nursing a barked shin. 

“Are you crippled?” Geralt asked, lighting a lamp by the bed.

“Just lightly maimed, thanks,” said Jaskier. He pointed at the blanket chest at the foot of the bed. “The culprit. Bastardous box. Next time I’m going to remember to take towels out there with us.” He threw one to Geralt. “Urgh,” he went on, peering at his shin in the lamplight, “the skin’s been peeled up like a little white scroll.”

Drying himself, Geralt leant over to look. “It’s not even bleeding,” he pointed out. “It’s only the top layer.”

“True, but the skin scroll is legitimately gross,” Jaskier said, picking at it and wincing. 

Geralt peeled up the damp bandage under his arm and pointedly displayed the damage there. 

“Yes, yours is grosser than mine, but I thought you didn’t want any fuss made. Other than we’ll need to redo that because we’re idiots who keep getting your dressings soaked.”

“What are you going to do if you ever get really hurt?” Geralt asked with exasperated affection, sitting down beside him. 

“Probably be surprisingly brave and maybe hide my injuries so nobody worries and then perish quietly with a faint smile on my face. Maybe while playing the lute, so there’s a last fading note before my music is forever silenced. That’s brilliantly sad, I have to use it for something.”

“Don’t you dare,” said Geralt. 

“You don’t control my creative process just because you’re my muse now.”

“I mean don’t hide it if you’re hurt, you fool, tell me in a sane way and I’ll help you. What kind of selfish bastard wouldn’t give me the chance to do anything? How am I supposed to feel when I see you’re suddenly dead after I thought you were fine? It would just make the shock worse.”

“To make it even sadder, you would have been preparing a favourite meal for us just before the terrible discovery.”

“So not only would I then have to deal with a corpse, let alone how I’d feel about the corpse being you, I would have wasted perfectly good food cooking for someone who knew he wouldn’t be able to eat it. It’s a stupid, dickheaded idea from every angle. It would serve you right if I left you for the crows to eat.”

“Or put up a stone,” Jaskier suggested, laughing, “Here lies the bard Jaskier, who tried to be brave, the inconsiderate bastard, and now he’s dead and my heart is broken and I can never forget him, that stupid son of a bitch.”

“I’m not carving anything that long into a stone for the likes of you,” Geralt said. “I’d stick your lute into the ground as a marker if you were lucky.”

“You wouldn’t keep her forever as a memento which you sometimes fancied held a trace of my very soul?”

“I could pawn her,” Geralt mused. “To compensate me for the wasted food and the inconvenience.”

“You don’t have a romantic bone in your body.”

“I don’t, they removed it when I was a child.” He pushed Jaskier onto his back and climbed astride him, grabbing both his hands to hold his arms down. “I don’t feel like playing that game any more.” 

“But this is romantic, since you’ve pinned me by holding my hands instead of my wrists.”

“You’ve lowered your standards of romance for me.” He lowered his head slowly, just to breathe against Jaskier’s lips and tease him before lifting up again. 

“What makes you think that?”

“Blowjobs in stables.” A proper kiss, but only a brief one.

“I don’t know how you imagine my life before you but that is a  _ long  _ way from the lowliest place I’ve been overjoyed to blow or be blown. My first time — receiving — was in a cowshed. Still a treasured memory.”

“Still, that’s not what you call romance.”

“It was very romantic, I was in love.”

“With a cow?”

“Oh, fuck off, she was a milkmaid. Which meant she also gave truly excellent handjobs, I learned a lot from her.” He raised his eyebrows. “Are you going to get all jealous and aggressive?”

“No, I can’t muster much jealousy for a milkmaid from decades ago whose name you probably don’t even remember.”

“I do, it was Daisy. She was actually named after a prizewinning cow her father was very proud of. She had four sisters and three brothers and her favourite colour was —“ Geralt cut him off with a kiss. “...green. What’s your favourite?”

“Do you need to ask?”

“What, seriously? Well, I suppose black goes with everything.”

“No. Pink.”

“I would  _ not _ have guessed that.”

“Pink like your lips…” (a kiss) “...your tongue…” (a kiss) “...your cheeks when you’re hot…” (a kiss) “...and your cock when it’s hard.” (a long kiss, and one that he didn’t end when he meant to because Jaskier lifted his head to follow him and made such an urgent pleading noise that he sank back down to enjoy it until they both had to stop for breath.)

“I’m so  _ pink _ for you right now,” Jaskier said, panting. “And that was an  _ incredibly  _ romantic thing to say.”

“I was hoping you’d think that,” Geralt admitted. He didn’t actually have a favourite colour, or wouldn’t have thought he did if anyone else in the world had asked him, but possibly he needed to rethink that. 

“Did you have it all prepared waiting for an opening? Or was it a sudden stroke of inspiration?”

“Inspiration.” There was a lot of it in front of him.

“Mmm, planning a really smooth, romantic  _ and _ hot thing you can say if you’re asked your favourite colour sounds like more of a  _ me  _ thing.”

“If you plan really smooth, romantic and hot things to say, why did I once hear you tell a woman she had a neck like a sexy goose?”

“They can’t  _ all _ be winners.”

“Goose,” said Geralt fondly, and kissed him again. There was a time when he would have been completely baffled and annoyed by the idea of talking so much instead of diving into the good part, but with Jaskier he could sort of splash around for a long, happy while before they made a deep dive. 

“Ask me my favourite colour,” Jaskier said hopefully. 

“What’s your favourite colour?”

“I’ve never been able to pick one, because there are so many beautiful colours in the world. That’s pretty telling, isn’t it? But if I really try to narrow it down, I’d say two. White,” glancing up at Geralt’s hair, “and yellow,” gazing into his eyes. 

“Like a fried egg,” said Geralt, because he was embarrassed. 

“That’s a sexy goose level of compliment.”

“I like fried eggs.”

“Also like a daisy… or like a chamomile flower. Who is now turning pink, and that is adorable.”

“I’m red because we were in a hot spring.”

“Of course. I should have thought of that. Big bad wolves don’t blush.”

Shutting him up with a kiss was easy, effective and pleasant. He released one of Jaskier’s hands to reach between them and rub his cock, drawing a little pleased hum out of him. The angle wasn’t his favourite and his sore thigh was complaining about being on his knees, so he shifted to lie on his side beside Jaskier and continued to kiss and rub while Jaskier made sounds of great contentment. 

“That’s just right,” he murmured. “Hey?”

“Hmm?”

“Since you’re good with compliments today, say something nice about my dick.”

“It feels good inside me.”

“Anything else?”

“That’s the biggest thing.” He tried to oblige, though. “I suppose it feels so good because of the shape. It’s got this upward curve. Especially face to face, it angles up and rubs the sweet spot. And… I like the look of it, it looks eager because of that.”

“That was so good,” Jaskier said. “You’re really getting the hang of pillow talk.”

That felt a little patronising — he was fairly sure he’d communicated adequately in bed before Jaskier, particularly with Yennefer —- but he could take it to mean the particular style of pillow talk enjoyed by Jaskier, so wordy, flattering and sometimes ridiculous. “I’m taking a break from talking,” he said, and moved to kiss Jaskier’s neck. 

“Then I’ll take over,” said Jaskier promptly. Geralt rolled his eyes but continued. “Well, you deserve a little reciprocity. What I like about Geralt’s dick, by Jaskier. Umm. Well, the first time I got a good look at it, admittedly you had taken it out for a piss and I was trying to look at it surreptitiously, I was impressed. Oh…” He flexed his hips and pushed against Geralt’s steadily pumping hand. “Even completely soft, it's a very nice size and shape. Enough foreskin to be fun to play with but not excessive. Looked like it would be thoroughly satisfying. That was my first impression.”

“You weren’t surreptitious enough,” Geralt murmured against his collarbone.

“Yeah, I did think you probably saw me. Oh…”

“Try not talking,” Geralt suggested. “I like it when you just make sounds.”

“But I want to tell you how I felt when I finally got to see it up close and touch it for myself.”

“I think I know. You put it in your mouth.”

“I like how red it gets, I like what a thick rib it’s got up the underside, I like how it gets about half hard by itself and then when I play with it it gets so much harder,” Jaskier babbled, “I like the — hnnnhh…”

“Why not just relax and come?” He tried dropping his voice to the pitch Jaskier seemed to have a thing about and murmured next to his ear, “You’re trying too hard. You know you’re going to lose control. Just let go.” It worked better than expected; Jaskier gasped and grabbed him and after quite briefly but vigorously fucking his palm came right up the inside of his wrist. Geralt couldn’t help laughing at the frenzied way he went at it, hugging him and kissing the top of his head to try to make clear it was meant lovingly, and once Jaskier relaxed a little he laughed, breathlessly, too. His face was aglow with slightly sweaty happiness.

“Well,  _ that _ awakened something in me,” he said. “I… I might come up with some lines I’d like you to say to me in that voice sometime, if you don’t mind.”

“I’ll think about it. After I fuck you.”

“Oh gods, there it is again.”

“And I wasn’t trying that time.” 

“How do you want me? Although please can it be face to face because it’s been ages and I want to kiss you all the time.”

“On your back.”

“Oh, yes.” He rolled back and spread his legs, his sweet face bright and eager. “Everything’s on that bedside table. Got it all arranged when I was mucking around this evening.” He twined his arms around Geralt’s shoulders and kissed him passionately as he spread oil between them and pushed his fingers into his tight warmth. He panted against Geralt’s lips, “I love you, I love you so much, I miss you inside me, I — oh my gosh, yes, oh, Geralt, come in… hnnhh…” He clung to him as they rocked together, Geralt grunting softly and deeply on each inward stroke, both with the pleasure, which was as strong and sweet as a mouthful of honey, and with the effort of ignoring the ache in his thigh and under his arm until the pleasure could overwhelm it. 

“Jaskier,” he panted, “my Jaskier,” and felt him grip tighter and lock his legs around his hips. Nothing hurt after that, and he reached a volcanic orgasm. They came to rest, breathing raggedly, sweat running between them, and he kissed Jaskier one last time to make it feel complete. 

“Further thing I like about Geralt’s dick,” murmured Jaskier, “just gave me a very nice, deep anal orgasm.” He let his legs sag on either side of Geralt’s body and sighed contentedly. “Oh, I feel so nice. I really like it here. I might be sick of it after a few days if it’s too quiet but right now it’s lovely. Let me up, though, because I really need to pee. You should have a wash too.” He patted Geralt’s chest briskly.

“Can we just… shift around enough to go to sleep like this?” Geralt tried. He had that wonderful heavy sleepy feeling of complete peace and didn’t want to let it go.

“No, because I’ve accounted for a bottle of wine by myself and it has to go somewhere.”

“Fair point,” Geralt admitted, and eased off him with a wince. 

“Aw, no,” said Jaskier, sitting up. “You’ve overdone it.” There was a red blot on the damp bandage around Geralt’s thigh. “Still, it doesn’t look too gory. How’s the other one?”

“A little spot, nothing bad.”

“Well, next time I’ll do the heavy thrusting and you take it easy.”

“You promise?”

Waking up in the lodge was like and unlike waking up in camp somewhere remote. It was quiet everywhere apart from the early morning sounds of nature, but they were dampened by coming from outside walls and a roof. There were no sounds of other people except for Jaskier breathing quietly beside him. 

Jaskier had accused Geralt in the past of watching him sleep and admiring how beautiful he looked. This was embarrassing, unfair and also true. It was a small treat that he would allow himself before it was necessary to get up and start the day. Jaskier’s face was peaceful and sweet and boyish. His hair was rumpled and a little damp and curly at the nape with sweat. He slept with his lips softly parted as if he was ready and waiting for a kiss. There was just a trace of brown stubble roughening the skin around his lips and along his jawline. He had two large red love-bites on his neck for which Geralt would admit responsibility, and a peak in the sheet loosely draped over his lower body where his cock was being an early riser. He contemplated the whole picture for a little while. 

Jaskier had the confusing but joyful experience of waking from a sex dream into actual sex; he had been with Geralt and the Contessa and all of them were very well acquainted, to the extent that he had two warm, wet, insistent mouths exploring his cock, and then there was just one mouth and it was Geralt’s but it was real and it was very enthusiastic; he never wanted Geralt to feel that he was criticising his technique but he found it intensely lovable how eager and… maybe sloppy was too strong a word, but he definitely wasn’t burdened by restraint. It probably wasn’t a good idea either to say how much it reminded him of his earliest experiences, because Geralt would feel compared to his past partners, when he really just wanted to say that it had the same exhilarating feeling of newness and freshness and made him feel — and Geralt seem — a lot younger than they actually were. 

He threw back the sheet to see him; Geralt’s hair had fallen down around his face and he swept it back and over to the side with one hand and the side of its forearm while his other hand stayed at the base of Jaskier’s cock. He glanced up at Jaskier, and the combination of his face flushed with desire (and warmth from being under the covers), the strange combination of the delicacy of that gesture with his hair and the powerful arm and hand making it, his lips around the shaft of Jaskier’s cock and a glimpse of his tongue working against it, and the feral flash of his yellow eyes formed a picture that he would see when he closed his eyes for days. 

“You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen,” he blurted out, then “Good morning,” then let his head drop back on the pillow. “Oh… thank you for the perfect start to my day.”

The morning continued to shine, since it involved sex, a nice warm bath, sex  _ in _ the bath, and ultimately breakfast, which was just the flat bannock sort of thing again but with honey on it, since there was a jar in the larder. Geralt was, for him, remarkably relaxed and affectionate; he kept touching him in completely unnecessary small ways as they ate breakfast, as if he just couldn’t refrain from  _ petting _ him. Jaskier basked in the attention like a cat in a sunbeam. 

He struck a sour note when he impulsively sat down on Geralt’s lap at the table and he flinched and swore. Jaskier bounced up again. “Shit, sorry, that’s your sore leg. Is it  _ that _ sore still? Do you think we messed it up more than it looked last night?”

“It doesn’t look like there’s anything that wrong with it,” Geralt said, very gingerly touching his thigh to test what kind of pressure was tolerable. “It’s just a very deep bruise around the puncture.”

“It doesn’t make sense to me,” said Jaskier, “that it would not be bothering you and then me sitting on your lap would make it that painful. I’m not that heavy and I didn’t sit that hard. So I have to think that you’re putting up with it being sore all the time, and that sudden bump just made it flare up. Which bothers me. Do you think it’s getting infected?”

“There’s not much that can infect me,” said Geralt, “and if it were the skin around it would be red and feel hot. It’s all right. I’m enjoying being here with you. You chose a good place for us.”

Jaskier eyed him dubiously. He was starting to feel unsettled by the tolerance for pain Geralt was showing, not just soldiering on but managing not to show he felt anything unless it spiked; it made him wonder how many times in the past he’d been in pain from his assorted continual injuries and hadn’t shown it and he, Jaskier, had gone on obliviously about whatever had been on his mind at the time. “Please just remember how heated you were on the subject of selfish bastards who don’t admit anything is wrong and don’t give people who love them any chance to help,” he said. 

“I’m not doing that. You saw me  _ get _ wounded so there would be no point, and you’ve helped me a lot.” Geralt stood up, carefully. “It’s all right,” he repeated, then, “Are you going to be disappointed if I dye my clothes today?”

“Wait a minute, have you been extra sweet and lovey-dovey this morning to buy yourself some time to do a really boring craft project while I’m all sated and floppy?”

“No?” said Geralt.

“You may as well do it, I’d like to see you back in black as well.” He was vaguely curious to see how it was done, anyway. 

It proved to look more like cooking than he expected. Geralt filled the largest cooking pot with water (it was an oddity of this house that the only source of water was the hot spring, which was perfectly all right and meant you didn’t have to wait as long for it to boil on the stove or fire, but if you wanted cold water you had to fill a bucket and let it cool, or take some from the rain barrel under the eaves), poured in a lot of salt, put in all the clothes with the exception of the cloak, which was bulky and would need to be done separately, and then simmered them like the stew for a long time. 

“What’s the point?” asked Jaskier. He was feeling pleased with himself for coaxing Geralt into wearing the fancy dressing gown while all his clothes were cooking. They’d settled on a sort of “some clothes but not all our clothes” policy for outside of bed, because it was always more interesting to have something to take off.

“Softens it up to take the dye.” He seemed very focused on what he was doing, which mildly vexed Jaskier who would have liked him to be more distractible. 

“I thought mordant meant biting, like a mordant wit. Which I have been told I… don’t have, actually. You know, while you’re waiting for those things to brew, could you do one thing for me? Trim your nails down. They’re not quite long enough to scratch my delicates but they’re close to it. I can lend you my nail scissors if you need them.”

“Because of course you travel with nail scissors,” said Geralt, as if they were an unusual refinement.

“We don’t all wear them down by scratching at tree bark or whatever it is you do.” He went off and fetched them for him. “I travel with tweezers too, for that matter. Fancy.” He hung around a few minutes more before deciding that watching Geralt watch a pot boil was too boring for even love to justify and announced, “I’m going out for a walk. There was a farmhouse a bit before we got here, and I’ll see if they can sell us a few eggs, bit of butter, that sort of thing. You’ll be all right contemplating your cauldron?”

“Hmm.”

“You do realise you look like you’ve dropped the -er and are currently just being a witch. See you later, my love.” He gave him a kiss on the cheek, pulled on his jacket and went out. 

That reminded him his jacket was missing buttons, so he went and fossicked for them on the stable floor and, happily, found them all, rescuing one just before Roach would have stepped on it. This wasn’t his best suit any more (Geralt was being rather rough on it) but he really liked the carved ivory buttons (white roses) and hoped to have them put onto a new one. In the meantime the open jacket was jaunty, the sun was shining and a gentle breeze was blowing. He saluted Roach and sauntered off up the track through the trees to the road. 

He’d walked just about far enough to start to regret his choice of shoes when he found the farm gate and turned into it. Time to be the interesting stranger blown in by the breeze. Rural farmhouses were always a bit of a gamble for the wandering minstrel; sometimes they were inhabited by lovely, hospitable people, sometimes they were isolated nests of misery from which you only hoped the younger people got away before resigning themselves to this being life, forever. This one looked more like the lovely-people or at least nice-people variety. The house looked prosperous and there were two little ones in smocks chasing each other around in front of it, squealing and giggling, with an elderly dog for supervision. 

He knocked at the kitchen door and introduced himself and his errand. It looked as if most of the family were out in the fields and currently the house and smallest children were being minded by the two eldest daughters. They were both flatteringly pleased and curious to meet the interesting stranger, with his colourful clothes and air of easygoing sophistication (he liked to think), and put the kettle on and invited him to sit down and talk. Naturally enough, he told them about the recent drama at the wedding and they listened avidly, occasionally interrupting with questions about what people were wearing and what the food was like. They were suitably impressed by Geralt’s heroic deeds, and Jaskier worked in a bit where he had helped by grabbing his sword from the floor when it was dashed from his hand and throwing it back to him. That went down well and he felt he’d successfully promoted himself from interesting stranger to interesting and rather dishy stranger. Not that he was going to take advantage of the impression he’d made this time, but it was nice to feel that way.

With the story told, the two young women remembered that actually he’d come there for a reason, and started busying around getting together some eggs, some butter, bread, and even a small can of milk from the dairy — of course farm people were often glad to earn a bit of extra money by selling what they could spare to travellers but he thought they were being extra obliging because they liked him, which, again, nice to feel that way. He sat and drank his tea and considered whether to actually put the helpful-sidekick bit into the song he clearly needed to develop from the experience (“The Moon-Beast’s Curse” or “The Cursèd Bride” or something, he hadn’t made up his mind yet) or if it was a mistake for the artist to insert too much of himself in the narrative. He’d already inserted too much of himself in the bride so maybe it was better to be an invisible narrator. Brea had been such a nice girl, though — a lot more mannerly and polished than these two, but accents and manners didn’t make all that much difference where it counted. If he didn’t have Geralt to go home to, he might be choosing now which of these girls to focus on, at least to begin with. But he  _ did _ have Geralt, Geralt was the whole reason he was here and meeting them at all, and pleasant, easy country matters would wait. 

When they came back they were clearly engaged in a debate that they had been having off and on for some time. “All right then,” said the elder, “let’s ask a gentleman.” She set the milk-can down on the table, put her hands on her hips and said, “Sir, would you say that if a man loves a girl, he should say so?”

“Of course he should! Often.”

“Just because he hasn’t said it yet doesn’t mean he  _ doesn’t, _ though,” said the younger, looking worried. 

“No, right. Well, there are those who don’t want to say it too lightly or quickly,” Jaskier offered. “He might be one of them. And there are also those who don’t say it in so many words, but get the point across by the way they treat you. Taking care of you and all that sort of thing. I’ve a friend who’s never actually said ‘I love you’ to his sweetheart, he’s just a shower not a teller, and they’re very happy together.”

“I don’t think much of that,” said the elder. “He needs to come out and say it, or you can’t trust him.”

“He’s as good as said it. And then there’s all the kissing and carrying on, but I don’t need to tell such lovely girls about that side of things.” 

They both laughed prettily, and the elder said, “I suppose that’s better than the ones who  _ say _ they love you to get the kisses  _ and _ the rest of it and then they drop you.”

“Speaking of kisses, what happened to your neck?” the younger asked, giggling, and he remembered the love-bites which weren’t very well covered by his collar. Geralt had got a bit aggressive again on their second round last night, even though he was on his honour not to overdo it, and it had been highly enjoyable.

“What? This? Oh no, nothing like that. I had the most terrifying encounter with a very  _ old _ vampire. Toothless, but still trying. Just battened onto me and tried to gum me to death. I barely escaped — but that is a story for another day,” he said, getting up. 

“Well, I hope you’ll come back to tell it!”

“Absolutely. If I didn’t need to, to bring back your basket and your milk-can, I’d do it just for the charming company.”

Well, now he was going to have to make up a story about a gummy vampire. He was a little bit annoyed with himself for that as he walked away, and unsure why he’d wanted to lie about the love-bites in the first place. They obviously wouldn’t think the story was true, just funny, so it wasn’t a  _ real _ lie. He supposed he didn’t want to tell them he’d scored with the monster-slayer from the wedding story without knowing a bit better whether they were the sort to think that was nice and romantic, or unmanly and unnatural and to say rude and unnecessary things about it. He’d enjoyed talking and mildly flirting with them and spoiling that wouldn’t have been any fun. But then why not just imply he got lucky at the wedding without being specific about who? 

_ I don’t think I want to tell a  _ real _ lie about it. Because it’s important. A silly make-believe story doesn’t offend against that, somehow, when a plausible one does. Bit weird. It was so nice with Bella who just saw what was what and was broad-minded and sensible about it — and there was no “Ugh, a witcher?” nonsense either. I could tell her and show him off to her a bit! I wish I could do that more.  _

_ I also frankly would kind of like to tell Madame High and Mighty Yennefer of Vengerberg, if I saw her again, and rub her nose in it. But I won’t, because that would be unnecessarily mean. Pissed off as she is with him, and not without reason, she has to be really sad about losing a man like Geralt, so I’ll take the high road. Unless she tries a verbal nut-kick first, and then I don’t care.  _

_ I wonder if he ever wants to tell people about me. We’ve never talked about it, but presumably there  _ are _ other witchers who he  _ does  _ know. Are they friends? Do they meet up and talk sometimes? About their lives, or do they just talk shop? Would he want to say, “I’ve met someone, he’s great, he’s a bard and a terrific lay” or words to that effect? Would it be, “You remember that annoying twit I told you about, yes, Jaskier, that’s the one, funny story, I was cursed with death unless I could get really well fucked and guess who helped me out?” Or “Remember my friend Jaskier? Turns out actually I love him and we can’t get enough of each other.”  _

_ Well, he probably wouldn’t say “I love him,” not Mister You Are The Least Unloved Person I Know. I thought he’d warm up from there but maybe he really thinks it’s not important to say it if I know it. And I know he does. I can see it and feel it. But it would be nice! I can ask him to say it but it would also be nice if he realised on his own that I would like it.  _

_ He did call me “stupidly easy to love” the other day. That was pretty close. But he also said, “I still love her.” Would he have told  _ her  _ that? Maybe he’ll say “I love her” or “him” but not “I love  _ you.” _ Grr, people who say things about you behind your back that they wouldn’t say to your face! For all I know he’s told every other witcher on the continent he loves me and not  _ me.

_ Well, that’s pretty unlikely, he’s still  _ Geralt.  _ I’m getting wound up for nothing, because I  _ know _ he loves me. _

_ It’d still be nice to hear. Particularly when I’m fucking him. When his voice is all deep and rough and breathless. Any time would be acceptable though.  _

He walked back rather slowly. He was starting to think these shoes weren’t long for this world, even if he got them repaired. He’d sort of promised Roach new shoes too — well, they could find a farrier sooner or later, as well as a cobbler or a cordwainer. 

Inside the lodge, Geralt was stirring what looked like the red cloak in the big pot. 

“Is the rest done?” he asked, after giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Drying outside,” said Geralt, but took his mind off his work enough to return the kiss. 

“I’ve got the eggs and so on. Thought I’d make scrambled eggs for lunch — they’re not particularly lunchy but they’re easy.” He wandered outside and shortly afterwards came back. “Geralt, why is the water in the bath completely pitch black?”

“I rinsed out the dye in it,” said Geralt.

“But it’s running water. It should be clearing out. It  _ is _ flowing out and new water’s flowing in but it’s just staying  _ black _ in there _.” _

“It’s very concentrated,” said Geralt, briefly holding up a small bottle half-full of a liquid so black it seemed to absorb light and darken the very air around it.

“What on  _ earth _ is that?”

“Trade secret,” said Geralt and put it in his pocket. 

“So whatever river that spring drains into is going to run black and people are going to think it’s an omen of doom or something.”

“It’s not toxic,” said Geralt. 

“No, I didn’t think you’d be careless enough to dump actual poison in the water, it’s just very fucking ominous-looking! Oh well, it’ll make their lives more exciting for a couple of days until they realise absolutely nothing is happening.”

“Anyway,” said Geralt, “that’s how my blacks stay so black.”

“I’m glad I chose you. You continue to be strange and interesting.”

“Oh, you chose me?”

“Of course I chose you. That one, I said to myself, I’ll have him. And  _ eventually, _ I did.”

The afternoon passed peacefully. Jaskier gently bullied Geralt into spending a large part of it lying on a sunny expanse of grass beside the house, cloud-watching, talking idly about the pictures the clouds suggested, and having small flowers and some sprigs of mint that grew along the banks of the (now direfully black) stream woven into his hair. 

“You always seem to want to decorate me or dress me up,” Geralt said, lying with his eyes closed so the sun showed golden-red through their lids. The pain in his side and his thigh was only a slow, dull throb at the moment. Things felt good, relatively speaking.

“It’s fun. You look good in everything. If I had my way you’d probably wear more black velvet, but I understand that’s not practical every day. You like to keep things simple.” He could feel Jaskier fiddling with the wolf pendant that lay on his chest. “I will admit, I was thinking a little of this when I chose this earring of mine. Like one signature accessory that people will remember.”

“I didn’t choose that,” Geralt said. “But it is supposed to be remembered — to identify me, anyway.”

“You’re memorable on your own. Trust me when I say that the pendant is not the key thing people are going to remember you by.” 

“There’s always the smell,” Geralt said, with a small smile. 

“And of course people aren’t going to remember me specifically by a little thing like this. I  _ want _ to be remembered for my talent and charm, and for the beauty and pleasure I add to life, and the truth I share. There are going to be people who remember my songs who never have any idea what I was like as a person.”

“Poor them,” said Geralt.

“I mean, I might just get tired of wearing it or lose it somewhere and let the hole close up, but right now I like it.”

“You are good at enjoying the present moment,” Geralt said.

“I am, aren’t I!” Jaskier exclaimed; Geralt didn’t need to see his face to know how it had brightened. “I’m trying to share that with you. You deserve to just have a nice time for a while. More pleasure in life would do you a tremendous amount of good, I feel.”

“I do feel pleasure in life even when you’re not there. I might just be more quiet about it than you are. But don’t think I’m feeling nothing.”

“I don’t think that exactly, but it gives  _ me  _ a lot of pleasure to see and hear and feel you express it.” The red-gold glow went dim as Jaskier leaned over and kissed him. “Even just with your little smile that might be half sarcastic. And I want you to lean into pleasure in idleness a bit more on this trip. Because if I hadn’t inveigled you out here, you were going to spend the afternoon cleaning and waxing your boots and Roach’s tack, weren’t you?”

“I need to look after Roach,” Geralt pointed out mildly. 

“Roach is having a holiday too. She’s not going anywhere, just placidly grazing over there, so she doesn’t need her tack.”

“I’ll accept that for the present moment.”

Jaskier was both enjoying Geralt’s willingness to go along with what he wanted and feeling increasingly concerned about whatever was happening with his leg and under his arm. He wasn’t doing so well at hiding it any more, which meant it must be hurting him badly — he moved cautiously and kept that arm closer to his body than he naturally would. It shouldn’t be feeling worse instead of better, particularly as he’d seen Geralt knocking back potions that presumably would see off any infection. He didn’t want to nag him about it but he’d decided that if it wasn’t markedly better in the morning it was time for Geralt to admit that he couldn’t treat this himself and it was time to find a doctor or a druid or in the worst case a mage. Who had better not turn out to be bloody Yennefer. 

Geralt’s clothes dried in the sun and he got dressed in inky black once again; they made dinner together, rabbit again (roasted this time) because Geralt had resourcefully used some of his dye-simmering time to set a few snares near the house. 

“I think I’ll fish tomorrow before we both get sick of rabbit,” said Jaskier, pushing back his plate. “Although if the stream’s still black goodness knows what will be alive in it.”

“I looked earlier,” said Geralt, “it’s nearly running clear again. I didn’t know you liked fishing.”

“Well, it’s not my favourite thing in the world but I like fish and it’s preferable to having to shoot or strangle or stab something. You do realise I very rarely camped out if I could help it before I started wanting to spend time with you, don’t you? I pretty much had to learn my wilderness survival skills from scratch.”

“I realised that. You were as good as useless the first few times.”

“Yeah, but I learned! Partly because you very begrudgingly and gruffly taught me things, partly because I just didn’t want to be so bloody uncomfortable and cold and hungry.”

“Best motivation,” Geralt said. 

“You don’t think I might be more motivated by praise and affection?”

“More easily motivated, but motivated to do more?”

“I am _ intensely _ motivated by your praise and affection.”

“Enough to wash the dishes? Which have been piling up in the sink since last night?”

“In fairness, you haven’t done them either.”

“That’s normally your job.”

“In a stream with a twig or a handful of sand, yes. In a sink with a brush we have to renegotiate.”

“If I wash, will you dry?”

This proved successful. “The funny thing is,” said Jaskier, wiping a plate, “how domestic we actually both can be together. Possibly because we’re both utterly undomestic in opposite directions, so we sort of pull each other closer into the middle. You get me to be practical and I get you to give a damn about things being nice. I’m not saying we ever  _ would, _ but we  _ could _ keep house quite nicely if we needed to.”

Geralt made a noncommittal noise; he looked quietly contented scrubbing a roasting pan. 

“Do you ever think,” Jaskier said, because he had only just thought it and it struck him as very interesting, “that it’s good preparation for your Child Surprise?”

“What?” Geralt asked, looking startled. 

“Well, when you think about it, sooner or later you’re going to be responsible for her. So your way of life will have to change a bit. It’ll be quite an adjustment for her, a young girl, gently brought up, accustomed to life in a palace with everything she needs done for her. She’ll need to be eased into it — and actually, I could help quite a lot with that, given my own experience. Not that I know what it’s like to grow up as a princess, but I did grow up in civilisation,” he added as an afterthought. 

“What brought this on?” Geralt asked, frowning. 

Jaskier shrugged. “Nothing in particular. General domesticity. Feeling that we work rather well as a team. I would be happy to help you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Geralt muttered. 

“Of course I don’t have to. I want to because it’s you. And, well, while you were obviously wrong to blame me entirely, I do feel partly responsible. You were there for my sake, or else you wouldn’t have been involved at all. It seems only fitting for me to be involved too.”

“It was my mistake, not yours, and it’s my burden to bear, not yours.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! That’s where you need me, right there — if you  _ ever _ tell this girl she’s a burden, how do you think she’ll feel?”

“She surely knows this isn’t something I wanted, and it isn’t something she could possibly want, either,” Geralt said, scrubbing at the pan as if he hoped to scour through the bottom of it.

“Oh, well, that’s a brilliant way to begin a relationship, I must say, ‘You don’t want to be here and I don’t want to be here either, let’s grimly tolerate each other until you’re big enough to get the hell out of my hair.’ Why would you do that to her? Or to yourself? Why not say — to yourself, not her — ‘This isn’t something I wanted or ever planned for but it is a wonderful possibility?’ It is.”

“I’m glad it looks that way to you because to me it looks like a fucking nightmare.”

“I didn’t think you hated children that much. I’m not madly keen on them myself, at least the very little ones with bubbles coming out of their noses and shitty pants, but she’s older than that already.”

“I don’t hate children.”

“I was going to say, I thought you quite liked little girls, anyway. You’re protective about them. Wouldn’t it actually be rather nice to have one of your own to take care of?”

Geralt slammed the roasting pan down on the draining board and glared at him incredulously. “Have you gone mad? She’s going to hate me. How can she feel anything but hate and fear for the — the monster who’s going to tear her away from her home and make her live in squalor and hardship?”

Jaskier opened and shut his mouth, rather foolishly. “Well, it won’t help if you shout at her like that!”

“Fuck off, Jaskier!” Geralt threw the brush into the sink and stomped off out of the lodge, slamming the front door behind him. 

Jaskier sat down on a kitchen chair. He felt shaken and upset and highly indignant. Obviously this was a very sore subject for Geralt, much more than he had realised, and he hadn’t meant to poke him on the raw, but that kind of reaction was totally uncalled for. He’d thought that was behind them. He took some deep breaths because he was  _ not _ going to cry about Geralt being an angry dickhead.  _ And _ he had splashed greasy soapy dishwater on his pants. Arsehole. 

He got up and angrily finished off the dishes by himself, dried them and put them away, with a lot of clattering and thumping. That provided some relief for his feelings. There was no sign of Geralt. He wasn’t coming back to apologise, then. Perhaps he’d just fucked off entirely, gone and saddled up Roach and ditched him again. That thought alarmed him so much that he took a candle and went out to the stable to see if the horse was still there. 

He hesitated just outside the door, listening hard. He could hear Geralt’s voice in there. He must be talking to Roach. He pressed his ear to the crack of the door and made out, “...thinks it’s so fucking easy. It  _ would _ be easy for him. She’d love  _ him.” _

He put his hand to the latch and heard Geralt say, “I can hear you lurking around out there, Jaskier.”

“Yeah, well… am I allowed in? I’m asking Roach because I’m not sure I’m speaking to Geralt.”

He heard Roach snort, and Geralt mutter something at her like “Don’t help me.”

“I’m coming in, then.” He pushed the door and slipped in. Geralt was in the stall with Roach, apparently brushing her, possibly just hiding behind her. “Lurking in the dark, are you?” he asked. 

“I’m used to it,” Geralt muttered. 

“Well that was a dramatic thing to say. I’m Geralt. I’m  _ dark. _ I assume people hate me.”

“People do hate me.”

“Arseholes and bigots hate you. Plenty of people quite like you and I in fact love you, for some reason I can’t think of just at the moment.”

There was a stubborn silence broken only by the stroke of the brush on Roach’s coat. 

“You know,” said Jaskier, “I’m certainly not predicting that when she sees you she’ll run into your arms and you’ll hug her tightly and everything will feel  _ right,  _ but there’s a decent chance that if you talk to her kindly she’s not going to see you as a monster.”

Brush, brush. 

“Because I certainly don’t, and never have. And you weren’t even all that kind to me in the beginning.”

“It’s not the same.”

Brush, brush. Jaskier fiddled about with the candle and tried to stick it onto the railing of the stall with its own melted wax. 

“She’s being brought up by Calanthe, you know,” he said after a bit. “You’re imagining a shrinking little slip of a thing and she’s probably as tough as old boots.”

“I’m not… fit… to be someone’s father,” said Geralt.

“Lots of people’s fathers aren’t fit. At least you would be trying very hard to be. There are a lot who just assume whatever they want to do is right. They don’t even think about how the child might feel about it. If the child isn’t happy with how they treat it, they just think it’s ungrateful.”

“I’m sorry for shouting at you before,” Geralt said abruptly. “Telling you to fuck off. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Thank you.”

“If I treat her like that —”

“Then pretend she’s Roach. You never shout at Roach.”

“You can’t shout at horses, it only makes them nervous.”

“They’re remarkably like people in that regard.” He got the candle to stick. “I’m sorry I didn’t understand how upset you were about it still.”

“I usually don’t think about it because when I do it terrifies me. I said one stupid, ill-considered thing because I didn’t want to have to make a choice on the spot and now I’m responsible for a child’s life. Why couldn’t I just ask for… I don’t know, a kiss from the princess or something? You would have thought of something like that.”

“I’d have been sorry if I had, because the next thing she did was throw up.”

“Still preferable,” Geralt muttered.

“You know, maybe she won’t see your life as squalor and hardship. Maybe she’ll see it as freedom and adventure. Living in luxury is nothing to be sniffed at, but when it comes with all sorts of rules and strictures and expectations about who you’ll be and what you can do with your life, it becomes pretty unattractive. I mean, for example, suppose she grows up and wants to get married. You’d let her marry who she chose, wouldn’t you? Even if it was a hedgehog knight? Or suppose she grows up and  _ never _ wants to get married. You wouldn’t be bothered, would you? No ‘you must marry someone I approve of and carry on the family name’ business. If she said, ‘I want to be a bard like Uncle Jaskier and travel the world wild and free,’ you’d say —”

“Uncle Jaskier?”

“Everyone needs a fun uncle.”

“She’s not going to believe you’re my brother.”

“Uncle as an honorific only. We’d be terribly incestuous brothers. Anyway, unless I mis-overheard, you think she’d love me.”

Geralt sighed. “You’re easy to love.”

“All the more reason to involve me. If she doesn’t warm up to you right away, I can gently talk you up. ‘Geralt’s all right,’ I’ll say, ‘you just need to get used to him. He’s gruff but actually very kind.’ That sort of thing.”

“And where are you imagining we’d all live? I’m always travelling. I don’t have a house for her to live in.”

“So? Bring her along. Get her a pony. Girls love ponies. You could get a wagon or a caravan, so she’d have somewhere a bit more comfortable to sleep. Me too. We can paint it yellow like a buttercup. Or black like everything you own. Or both, like a bumblebee.”

“It’s dangerous. Everywhere I go is dangerous.”

“Which is one more reason to bring me! ‘I have to go and slay this bandersnatch, darling,’ you’d say, ‘stay here with Uncle Jaskier and be good.’”

“Why do I have the feeling when I got back you would both have been anything but good? And I don’t see myself calling her Darling.”

“You can call her Ratbag if you want. My point is, I would be helpful. And you wouldn’t be anything like as bad as you think. Sooner or later it’s going to happen. You might as well have a plan.”

“Why are  _ you _ thinking of this?” Geralt asked him. “You don’t want to settle down. You’ve told me that before. You want us to get back together from time to time, not to be together always. You talked about me being the home you go back to, not the place where you stay.”

“I wasn’t saying ‘This is how it’s going to be forever and I can’t ever change,’” Jaskier protested. “And I just started really thinking about this tonight.”

“And right away you were ready to say that you’d bring up a child with me?” Geralt looked baffled and perhaps a little disgusted.

“Well… maybe I’m wrong, and maybe I’d do terribly, but I would be willing to try.” When it was pointed out like that, of course it sounded hasty and foolish, and he was embarrassed. 

Geralt put down the brush and came around the front of Roach and took Jaskier’s hand where it rested on the railing. “Listen. I’m grateful for you thinking about it, and grateful for you wanting to help. I can’t decide anything about it right now. Can we just… not think about it any more tonight? I’ll tell you when I’m ready to talk about it again.”

“No, yeah, right, of course, of course not. Bath and bed, perhaps?” Geralt’s face, close to his, by candlelight, speaking to him in earnest, unbearably soft, made him feel all weak and goosebumpy. 

“I’ll finish the dishes first,” Geralt offered.

“I already did that.”

“Oh.”

“Was that your peace offering?” Jaskier asked, with a half-smile.

“I’ll try to think of something else.”

“I don’t need anything else.” 

The next day Jaskier woke first. His contemplation of a sleeping Geralt was marred by the fact that he clearly did not look well. His colour was poor, he looked sweaty in an unwholesome, waxy way, and while his other bruises were fading, turning brown and yellow, the ones under his arm and on his thigh appeared to be spreading, purple and red expanding from under the edges of the bandages. Jaskier slipped out of bed without waking him — which went to show he was unwell — and went downstairs to get him a drink of water, since he looked like he would need it. 

“Geralt,” he said quietly, patting his shoulder. 

“Mnrr,” said Geralt, opening his eyes after a moment. 

“Wake up. You look terrible, we need to find you a doctor.”

Geralt accepted the water and drank, frowning. “Yesterday I was the most beautiful man you ever saw. I liked yesterday better.”

“You’re still beautiful, you’re just beautiful and sick. I don’t know what’s going on but those two wounds are getting worse. There must be something nasty in them.”

“In them?” Geralt repeated, his eyes widening, then scrunching closed in a frown. “Shit, shit, shit.” 

“What?”

“I only just realised what this must be. I’m fucking stupid.” Geralt sat up and started unwrapping the bandage around his thigh, which, Jaskier was troubled to see, had a blot of blood on it this morning which he was sure hadn’t been there when they went to sleep. 

‘What  _ is _ it?”

“The… moon beast or whatever we may call it, I’ve never seen anything exactly like that. That happens from time to time. You strike a new mutation or something that shouldn’t exist, like the golden dragon. I’ve been trying to think if it resembles anything I ever learned about but haven’t seen for myself, something I wouldn’t remember right away. There are a few demons that have barbs or claws or teeth that will break off in a wound and stay there. Some just engender infection or rot, but some stay alive even if the beast is dead and keep working their way into the flesh. It must be one of those.”

“That’s revolting,” said Jaskier. “Is it just going to come out the other side? When I was a kid I stepped on a broken stick that went into the sole of my foot. They cleaned it up and it healed but a few months later a big sore lump came up on top of my foot and eventually burst and it was a bit of the stick that had stayed in the wound and worked its way through. It hurt like billy-oh but once it was out it got better quite quickly.”

“This is different,” Geralt said, pressing on either side of the puncture to try to open the wound, his breath hissing between his teeth as he did so. “If I’m right, this will keep burrowing until it reaches my heart and kills me. Very slow death.”

“Oh, shit,” said Jaskier. “We’re definitely getting you a doctor.”

“Get me your tweezers,” said Geralt. 

“They’re not surgical tools! I use them to get out splinters and the occasional stray eyebrow hair! You can’t just shove them into a hole in your leg!”

“I need to make sure. Please.” Geralt looked at him beseechingly.

“If you make it worse you’ve got to apologise to me  _ and _ tell the doctor we then have to go to that I told you it was a bad idea.” He went and rummaged through the possessions he’d scattered across the bureau and brought the tweezers back to the bed. “Are you seriously just going to — do you want me to do it?” He desperately did not want to do it. 

“I’ve got it,” said Geralt. He was sitting awkwardly with that leg raised to reach and see the outside of the thigh, and his face was distorted with pain and effort as he put the tips of the tweezers into the wound. Jaskier realised he was whispering “ew ew ew” under his breath and shut up, because that was the opposite of helpful. Geralt’s face was turning bloodless white and the tweezers were going far deeper into his leg than Jaskier wanted to see and there was a trickle of blood running out around them. 

“Geralt, please, let’s get —”

“Got the fucker,” Geralt said breathlessly, and drew the tweezers out. Gripped between their tips was what looked like the tip of an oversized cat’s claw, moon-white when the blood dripped off it. It was writhing in place, scratching at the air. 

“Holy shit,” said Jaskier. “No wonder it was getting worse. What a horrible little thing.”

“Now we  _ know,” _ said Geralt with satisfaction, although he still looked highly unwell. “Take it,” he added, passing the tweezers to Jaskier, who almost fumbled them and focused very intently on keeping the living claw pinched tight. Geralt was re-tying his bandage tightly, and Jaskier wanted to protest that that was quite inadequate wound care. 

“Two things,” Geralt said to him. “Take that downstairs, find an empty jar with a tight lid, put it in and shut it up. Then get me a clean towel. And we might need a sharp knife or your razor.”

“You are not doing some half-arsed job of surgery on yourself.”

“No, I need you to do it. I can’t see this properly,” Geralt said, raising his arm. 

“No! I’m a bard, not a doctor! And — and I’ve got no clothes on! I can’t just go carving you up!”

“I need to get this out of my body  _ now, _ ” said Geralt. “The one under my arm is far closer to my heart. I don’t know how long it’s going to take it to get through the muscle and inside the ribcage but I’m fucked if it does. The thigh one was nearly down to the bone. Please help me.”

“That’s not fair, you  _ know _ I’m going to say yes, I don’t even have a real choice.”

It was officially the most revolting thing Jaskier had ever had to do. Geralt sat stolidly with his arm raised, holding the clean towel below the wound with his other hand, and directed him first to try probing the wound with the tweezers only. 

“Ew ew ew ew,” Jaskier whispered, because it was the only thing that let him do it without feeling like he would imminently throw up. He could hear the claw from the leg wound, still moving, scratching around inside the ceramic jar he had found in the larder. It was the most malevolent tiny noise. He couldn’t feel anything with the tweezers, just… ugh, it felt like meat, and he supposed it  _ was _ meat but he didn’t want to think of Geralt’s living body in that way. 

“It’s in deep,” said Geralt. “You’ll have to widen the opening.” 

“I hate this I hate this I hate this,” Jaskier muttered. “I am never ever cutting you on purpose ever again. This is so fucking unsanitary! I don’t even know what I’m doing! If I cut something important and your arm stops working it’s your fault!” He very carefully pressed the blade of the razor across the puncture wound; the skin seemed to spring apart under the sharp edge and he had to swallow very hard to keep the nausea down. He tried again with the tweezers. There were dots of sweat breaking out all over his face; he was as badly off there, if in no other way, as Geralt. He couldn’t imagine how much this must hurt, but Geralt was just doing this controlled rhythmic breathing thing, staring at nothing so that he almost felt like he was having to do this alone. Blood was running freely down Geralt’s flank and he had to stop and wipe the tweezers on the towel to stop them slipping in his fingers. Then, gross gross gross gross gross, he felt something different down there in the wound, something hard. It could just be that he’d hit bone ( _ gross! _ ) but he had no way of knowing so he reached and pinched and pulled. It came away with a horrible little squelching sound and added a further ragged tear to the edge of the wound. 

“Oh, shit!” he exclaimed. This claw-tip was bigger than the one from Geralt’s leg. He could see what looked like a  _ vein _ inside it. He was so shocked that he dropped it. It landed on his own bare leg and immediately bit into the skin. He yelped and managed to grab it again and stuff it into the jar with its fellow, cramming the lid back on. Both claws started skittering around as if they were excited, or possibly fighting. Geralt had brought the towel up to cover the wound and pressed his arm down on it, and with that settled Jaskier scrambled off the bed, rushed across the room, threw open the window and was sick out into the fresh morning air. There wasn’t a lot to be sick  _ with _ when he hadn’t had breakfast yet, but his stomach made a spirited effort. He spat and breathed in deeply and managed to convince himself to settle down a bit before staggering back to drink some water from the cup he’d brought Geralt. 

Geralt had lain back against the pillows, still clamping the towel tightly in place under his arm. He had a look of tremendous relief, as if he’d just survived giving birth or something. “Thanks,” he said. “I can feel that they’re gone. Thank you, Jaskier. Thank you for doing that for me, I know it was an ordeal for you.”

“Ordeal isn’t a strong enough word,” Jaskier said, with feeling. 

“Do you think you can bear —”

“No!”

“The one under my arm may need a stitch.”

“You owe me for this. So much. I don’t even know what you owe me yet, but it’s big. I think you might have to actually catch me a unicorn.”

“I can’t catch a unicorn,” Geralt said reasonably. “I’m a man and I haven’t been a virgin for a very long time.”

“Just pretend!”

“It wouldn’t go near you either, for the same reason. You’re far too slutty for a unicorn.”

“Then unicorns shouldn’t be such prudes. Sluts like us deserve magic and beauty in our lives too. I’m going to write a song about a broad-minded unicorn who doesn’t confuse purity of heart with inexperience of body.” He took a deep breath. “Okay, I’ve talked nonsense enough to calm down a bit, I’m going to see if there’s anything in the medicine chest — where we should have looked if we had  _ brains _ before messing about with my tweezers and razor — and if not, well, I’ll find my sewing kit. Oh! I know what you’re doing to start paying me back. You’re sewing the buttons back on my jacket.”

“That hardly seems equal,” said Geralt.

“That’s why I said to  _ start _ paying me back. You have so much more to do.”

The medicine chest did in fact have a sharp needle and fine thread — and a longer pair of tweezers, which would have made the cut and the stitches unnecessary. 

“You should have  _ thought,” _ Jaskier scolded Geralt as he nerved himself up to put a stitch into his skin. 

“You didn’t think either.”

“I was panicking.”

“I wasn’t well.” Geralt bit his lip as the needle went in, because apparently he could stoically ignore the pain of having Jaskier dig in his living flesh with tweezers but now that the real danger and horror were over he was going to make a tiny little fuss. “And I wanted help and… I know  _ now _ that it would have made far more sense to get dressed and ride back to the nearest town and look for a doctor, but I couldn’t stand the thought of the claws being in my body, and when I thought of  _ help _ all I thought of was you.”

“Geralt, my love, that’s very, very sweet and also moronic.”

“Yes,” said Geralt, wincing again as he pulled a knot in the thread tight. “I have to ask you for one more thing.”

“One more!” Jaskier exclaimed. “What’ll it be? Catch you a falling star? How about a mandrake root?”

“There’s a potion I should take again to stave off infection and speed healing, but I took my last one while the claws were still in there and it couldn’t take full effect. I can make it again but I need the ingredients. They’re not rare, you know what some of them look like already. If I give you a list, and describe exactly what they look like, could you go into the forest and bring them back for me?” He touched Jaskier’s cheek gently with bloodstained fingers. “This is me… trusting you and letting you help.”

“Ugghhh. It’s such a good thing I love you to distraction.” Jaskier kissed him, trying to make it clear that it was a reproof as much as a show of love. 

Geralt looked at him quizzically when he drew back. “Jaskier?”

“What?”

“You know that I love you too, don’t you?”

He faltered, and couldn’t answer.

“You seem to be feeling… unappreciated?” Geralt said. “I don’t want that. I thought I’d made it clear already, but if it doesn’t feel that way when I’m asking so much of you…”

“No, no, that’s not it at all.”

“I do. Love you, I mean. Very dearly.”

Jaskier gave a weak, shaky laugh. “I do know it really. But you know how much words mean to me. It’s wonderful to hear you say it directly.”

“I mean… I remember I  _ told _ you that you loved me. Which was arrogant of me but you’d proved it. You broke the curse with your love. And you didn’t ask me to say I loved you directly, you suggested that I  _ not _ do that. Later you  _ told _ me that I loved you. I thought that was our way of saying it, and I liked it somehow. As if we’d got in behind the way things usually are, wondering how someone feels about you, and just knew each other’s hearts.” Something seemed to occur to him. “And if you thought I didn’t want you to help me with the child because I didn’t love you that much —”

“No, no, I didn’t think that. Your reservations make total sense, I would be a dreadful role model for a child, I really would.”

“No, you wouldn’t. Not all the time. And no worse than me.”

“Geralt? I really don’t think we should talk about it any more now. You look knackered and I need to go and get your herbs or whatever. Tell me about them.” 

Geralt looked relieved. “All right. First, comfrey…”

Things got better quickly after that. They burnt the claws in the hottest part of the kitchen fire. The two persistent wounds closed overnight and Geralt moved easily, although Jaskier forced him on pain of threats of physical violence (which made him laugh) to spend another day on bed rest. He actually slept for most of it and came down in the late afternoon looking relaxed and, for Geralt, cheerful. 

“What on earth are you doing?” he asked Jaskier.

“Left to my own devices, I have descended into the dark arts,” Jaskier said, gesturing grandly to the mess he had made on the kitchen table. “I found a tatty old handwritten recipe book and I’m making a pie.”

“This isn’t a joke?” Geralt asked, sitting down. 

“It is a literal pie. Well, it’s going to be. Right now I’m trying to master pastry. Somehow I’m supposed to cut the lard into the flour with a knife until it looks like crumbs. So far it looks like floury lard and/or lardy flour. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to  _ stab _ it with the knife or spread it around, or stir as if the knife is a spoon. I’m going on the principle that if I just mess with it long enough, something’s bound to happen.”

“What are you putting in it, or have you not thought that far?”

“Apples!”

“It’s spring.”

“I know that. There are still apples in the cellar,” Jaskier said, pushing a bowl of them towards him. “They’re a bit soft but I cut one open and they’re still recognisably edible apples. Apples, sugar, spices, it’s simple and I expect to excel at it. Do you want to peel them for me?”

“I wish I could, but I’ve been ordered to take it easy today. Otherwise, I’m told, I get kicked in the balls. I’m protective of my balls so I take the order very seriously.” Geralt sat back in his chair and folded his hands. 

“I could give your balls a reprieve for the sake of the apples.”

“Couldn’t risk it. Gave my word. The most I can do is sit here watching you and drinking.”

“Why do I keep you around?” Jaskier asked. “You’re no help at all. Just big and handsome.”

“Decorative,” said Geralt. “I could, just possibly, bestir myself to get you a drink too.”

“Would you? The recipe doesn’t call for cooking wine but I feel like I really need cooking wine, as in wine to drink while cooking.”

The wine may not have helped, or on the other hand, it may have made the pie better than it otherwise would have been. The bottom was a little scorched and the filling bubbled over and burst through the edges of the pastry and burnt on the floor of the oven. 

“Looks perfect,” said Jaskier, powdered with flour and cinnamon and in no mood for constructive criticism. “And it’s too late to make anything else for dinner.”

“I could —”

“ _ It’s too late. _ ”

So they ate apple pie and cheese for dinner, and tried out the sauna, which established that Geralt had a far higher tolerance for being steamed than Jaskier did. He just sat there contentedly sweating until every dark curl on his body was slick and wet, while Jaskier had to take several breaks outside to stick his head in a bucket from the rainwater barrel. 

“Weren’t we going to pretend you were picking me up in a bathhouse?” he asked when he returned and sat down beside Geralt. 

“I don’t really pick up. I get picked up. I’m fairly passive in those places,” said Geralt, with his eyes closed. “I only go when I need to get fucked. I get the impression I’m regarded as a mild disappointment.” 

“Really? You must be different there than you are with me.”

“Of course I am,” said Geralt, opening his eyes and giving him a small smile. “Because I’m in love with you.”

“Are you going to say that a lot now?” Jaskier asked, beaming.

“I’ll… probably remember to say it a lot for a while and then taper off, to be honest. But I won’t stop, now I know it’s important to you.”

“I wasn’t agonising over it. But it is very, very nice to hear. I was actually in a little debate about this the other day, how important it is to  _ say _ ‘I love you,’ and I defended you.”

“You told people I don’t tell you I love you?” Geralt asked.

“No, I used you as a ‘my friend’ example. I suppose they might have thought I was talking about myself.”

“I… didn’t have the kind of upbringing where we said ‘I love you’ a lot,” said Geralt slowly. Despite being overheated, Jaskier felt a little prickle on the back of his neck at the thought Geralt was going to tell him something more about his life. “But there were people I loved, and who I felt loved me.” He was quiet for a while, Jaskier wondering if there was something he could say that would encourage him to go on, or if saying anything would put him off. Geralt turned and kissed him. “And now there’s you,” he said quietly. Another soft, wet kiss, beads of sweat melting from his upper lip so Jaskier tasted salt, and a hand stroking his chest, fingers combing through the damp hair. “Let’s go to bed. Your face is the colour of a cherry and I keep thinking you’re going to pass out on me.”

“That means you got picked up. Do you need to get fucked?”

“Badly.” His voice was a gravelly purr that ensured he would. 

The bed creaked under them, Geralt’s heavy breathing chuffed, and his moans grew deeper. His head was thrown back and Jaskier licked the straining column of his throat as he thrust into him. He could feel Geralt’s hands clutching his back, fingers digging in and sliding in the sweat, and his thighs gripping his hips as he squeezed his cock tightly inside him. 

“I love you,” he panted, and the words came back to him in Geralt’s hoarse groan, “I love you. Oh, fuck, I love you!”

The bed was warm and soft, morning sunlight was streaming in, and Geralt’s hand was stroking his bare back. He woke with a smile and wriggled into Geralt’s arms, hugging him tight. “Good morning, gorgeous.”

“Morning,” Geralt murmured, and kissed the top of his head. 

“I love it here. I’m so glad I found it for us.” 

“When are you just going to admit this is your place?” Geralt asked, sounding amused.

“Hmm?” Jaskier looked up from nuzzling Geralt’s chest.

“Or your uncle’s. Something like that.”

“It’s not. It’s really my friend’s uncle’s. I’ve never been here before.” He frowned, confused. “What made you think I was lying about that?”

“Oh,” said Geralt, looking embarrassed. 

“Come on,” said Jaskier, sitting up. “What do you mean?”

“It just seemed too convenient as a coincidence. And given your family…”

“You’ve never asked me about my family.”

“You didn’t talk about it, so I assumed you didn’t want me to. I know who you are, though.”

“How long have you known that?” Jaskier asked, feeling a touch of panic. It wasn’t that he’d tried to  _ hide _ his background from Geralt, exactly, but it had always been so nice to feel that Geralt’s relationship was only with the version of himself that he’d presented to him, the self that he’d chosen and made himself into, not the self that he hadn’t had a choice about. None of that mattered to Geralt. So he’d thought, anyway. 

“I looked into it when we… weren’t speaking. You’d dropped your full name, and I was angry with you and angry with myself, and I was… looking for justification to keep feeling angry. If you had something bad in your past. If you weren’t what you seemed. If you’d deserted your wife and children, or murdered someone. That type of thing.” Geralt had the grace to look guilty about it. 

“Well. What did you think when you found out?”

“It was an anticlimax. You just wanted to be someone different, I suppose. There was nothing scandalous about it, nothing I could use to tell myself I was better off without you and I shouldn’t feed bad.”

“So… it didn’t change how you felt about me?”

“It surprised me a little, but it didn’t seem to mean anything I knew about you wasn’t true. That you were attractive and annoying and talented and promiscuous and devoted to me until I’d spoiled things.”

“That’s sort of a relief, I suppose,” said Jaskier, gradually relaxing. “It didn’t have anything to do with you deciding to ask me to help you?”

“No. How could it? The curse didn’t say ‘one who loves you  _ and _ is of noble birth.’”

“I just feel a bit stupid that you’ve known for so long.”

“You didn’t think I knew your full name either.”

“I can be a bit scatterbrained sometimes, all right? Why would you just assume this was my family’s lodge, though? There are plenty of upper-crust families with places like this.”

“At first I wasn’t sure. You said your friend was a dissipated wastrel who was a disappointment to his family.”

“Rude!”

“I’m not calling you a wastrel, I thought you were calling  _ yourself _ a wastrel. It didn’t seem like you to be that self-deprecating, though, so I wasn’t sure it meant anything. Then you started talking about fantasies, and you cast yourself as the spoiled young nobleman who wanted to see life, and I thought you were dropping hints. Or playing games, thinking I wouldn’t guess. I just thought that was amusing, and I’d let you have your fun thinking you’d put one over on me. If it was important to you to be Jaskier with me, not Julian, I didn’t want to spoil it for you.”

“Oh,” said Jaskier, deflating. “Well, that was kind of you, I guess.”

“I’m sorry for prying,” said Geralt. “I knew full well it wasn’t any of my business. On the other hand, I know you’ve gone around asking people about me. There are stories in your songs that I didn’t tell you and you weren’t there for, but they’re more or less accurate.”

“I didn’t do that because I wanted to dig up dirt on you, though. I did it because I loved you and I wanted to know more about you and you clearly didn’t like to tell me about yourself. In some ways I’ve tried not to find out too much. I never tried to track down where you’re from, other than Rivia, or find other witchers and ask for the inside view. I did feel a little tempted to pump Mousesack for information once I saw you were quite chummy, but I held back. I just focused on stories that I could use to let people know how wonderful you are.”

“That means you probably know stories you don’t use,” Geralt said quietly.

“Well, yeah.”

“Ones that definitely don’t make me look good. Times when I failed.”

“Everyone fails. I’ve been egged off a stage. No one goes on and on about that — except Valdo Marx,  _ hack. _ ”

“When you fail, people don’t die,” Geralt said flatly. 

“I know you don’t want to tell me about it,” said Jaskier. “I know, for whatever reason, there are all sorts of things you don’t want to tell me about, whether because you need them to be private to feel safe, because they’re just not part of the  _ you _ that you want me to know… it doesn’t matter. When you want to tell me, or you decide you need to tell me, I’ll be glad to listen. I’m not going to ask you about it. And I am an extremely nosy person so you know this is very, very important to me. I made a choice, I drew a line, that’s that.”

“Well, now I feel worse about looking up your family,” said Geralt.

“And! This is not a thing where I say I won’t ask you to try to provoke you into telling me or make you feel guilty if you don’t. I really, truly,  _ don’t _ want you to tell me anything you don’t feel comfortable sharing.”

“I appreciate that,” said Geralt. “But I still feel that we’re not even.” He seemed to chew an idea over. “Ask me one thing,” he said. “One question, and I’ll answer it fully.”

That almost made Jaskier say “That’s not fair.” There were a million and one questions he wanted to ask Geralt, from “where did you grow up?” to “what was the most important, formative, seminal experience of your life?” He took a deep breath and tried to get them in some sort of order. It was better not to try to find the one most important question. As soon as he picked one he would be regretting that he hadn’t asked another. Better to pick something that he just wondered about a bit. 

“Okay,” he said, lying down again beside Geralt and propping his head up on his arm. “Please tell me your side of how you came to be called the Butcher of Blaviken. What happened to you there?”

“You don’t mess around,” said Geralt. 

“It’s something I’ve wondered. I know the  _ outside _ of the story. It’s easy to get hold of. There was a massacre in Blaviken, years before I met you. You, single-handed, killed a group of armed men and their leader, a dangerous young woman called Renfri, who planned to murder the local mage, Stregobor. In the process you endangered the life of a young girl who worked for the mage, who escaped, no thanks to you. They stoned you and you left town in disgrace. I know there’s more to it than that, but only you know what it is.”

Geralt rolled onto his back and studied the ceiling. “Not only me. Stregobor knows.”

“Yeah, funnily enough, I didn’t feel comfortable asking him for an interview.”

“You went to Blaviken?” Geralt asked, raising his eyebrows. 

“I do my research. I met the girl. Well, she’s grown up now. She gave me the creeps if I’m honest. Very arch and knowing and very cold eyes. She talked a lot about how your violence horrified her and how you’d tried to gain her trust, and dropped some implications that you were after green fruit. I got the impression it was a story she’d told many times. It might really be what she thinks, but it didn’t sound like you to me.”

“She’s still in Blaviken, then?” Geralt asked. “She wanted to get out.”

“She was a few years ago. Don’t know about now.”

Geralt breathed out, a long, slow, controlled exhalation as if he were blocking out pain. “This isn’t easy to talk about. I’ll keep it short. Renfri wanted to kill Stregobor. He had done terrible things to her and to other girls born with certain mutations. Stregobor wanted me to kill Renfri. He said she was dangerous and he wasn’t wrong. I didn’t want her to kill him and I didn’t want to kill her either. I… began to fall in love with her. She was a very strong, smart, spirited woman and beautiful too. I tried to persuade her to forget about him, to go away and begin a new life.”

“With you?” Jaskier asked softly.

Geralt looked startled. “No, with her band of men, or by herself, whatever she wanted to do. She was… like me but not like me. We were different from normal people, but she wasn’t bound to a path the way I am. It was only her own choice, and she could have chosen something else, but she felt that she couldn’t. Or she wouldn’t. No matter what might happen to her, she was determined to take Stregobor down. I just wanted something better for her, but I couldn’t convince her. I… didn’t feel that I had a choice. Or I tried not to choose. Stregobor said that killing Renfri would be the lesser of two evils. I told him that evil was evil and I rejected both. I still don’t know what I should have done. Killed him myself? Every choice was terrible, except the one Renfri had, and she still wouldn’t take it. I fought her in the end. I tried to stop her. I didn’t want her to die. And I still killed her. Everything else is as you heard.” A deep breath in and a long breath out. “And that’s what happened to me in Blaviken.”

“Come here,” said Jaskier, and wrapped his arms around him.

“I don’t want you to tell me it’s all right or I did the best I could or anything like that.” Geralt lay stiffly on his back.

“I know. Come here.” He pulled him closer and guided Geralt’s head onto his shoulder and lay quietly, holding him. It was a sad, ugly story. He  _ wanted _ to be able to comfort Geralt and tell him that it hadn’t been his fault, but that would only have made him pull away. He wouldn’t be able to feel that it wasn’t his fault and still be Geralt, with his sense of responsibility and his willingness to do what other people wouldn’t or couldn’t. When there was nothing he could  _ do, _ when it had to be someone else who  _ did,  _ he was still going to feel responsible or else he would feel helpless and useless. After a while Geralt put his arm around his waist and just lay there, not relaxed but not as stiff and tense as he had been. Somewhat comforted, Jaskier hoped, just by feeling that he had heard the truth and he was still here. 

“I think I understand about you and Yennefer now,” Jaskier said. “I never did understand why you did what you did with the wish.”

“What do you mean?” Geralt asked. 

“You’re not seeing it? Well, I’m a bard, we think in stories as well as music. Things repeat, things rhyme. Beautiful, dangerous, spirited woman determined to do something incredibly self-destructive that she believes is the only right thing for her? You, falling in love, unable to convince her? Sound familiar? The difference is this time you could make her choose. You had that wish. You see, I never thought you would have done it just to fuck her or even just to have her love you. You wanted to be saving her life and you wanted to be enough for her to live for. You were still trying to save Renfri.”

“Even if you’re right,” said Geralt, after a long, somewhat reproachful silence, “that doesn’t excuse it.”

“I didn’t say it did, but it’s a much less bad reason than ‘I want her and I know best,’ which is what it  _ looked _ like, I just couldn’t believe it of you. There had to be something else to make you do something so stupid, sorry, but it was stupid, and I’m glad I know now what it was.”

Geralt was silent again for a while, then said, “I knew why I did it for Yen, but I never really saw Renfri behind it.”

“Yen and Ren, eh?”

“Don’t.”

“Sorry, wasn’t trying to make light.” He stroked Geralt’s hair.

“Aren’t you lucky,” Geralt said with a trace of grim humour, “that I’ve never tried to save you from yourself?”

“What would that involve? Going to the tailor’s with me and glaring and growling every time he suggested something too flamboyant?”

“Stepping in every time you were getting too flirty with someone and reminding you the rash and the discharge hadn’t gone away yet.” His arms tightened around Jaskier. 

“Oh, you bastard.” He sighed and snuggled closer. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Thank you for hearing it.” Geralt went on with some difficulty, “I’m — I’m not ready to —”

“I know. I’m not asking you to. One question was the deal.”

“I  _ want _ to. Sooner or later. I will.”

“Maybe I will too. But I’m in no hurry.”

After a while Jaskier realised Geralt was not merely quiet, but sleeping, as if it had really taken a physical effort to tell his story and he was worn out. He lay looking at the man in his arms, huge and strong and covered in old and new scars, and felt tenderly protective of him. “You don’t need to make your mind up about anything now,” he whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One problem I had in writing Geralt and Jaskier confiding in each other a bit about their backstories is that I'm not very familiar with the game/book versions of those stories and there's no way to know what will be the same or different in the TV version. The fact the writers have chosen to call Jaskier "Jaskier," for example, implies that they see him as a bit different from Dandelion and are trying to kind of demarcate that. (I'm from _Sailor Moon_ fandom originally so the differences that can exist between versions of characters in different adaptations and translations of a story loom large in my mind. I've noticed a lot of commentary about how confusing and funny it is to have such differences already between books, TV show and games, and I can only say, wait until they throw a series of stage musicals into the mix, in which eventually Geralt fights Dracula. Did you know Sailor Moon fought Dracula? I think everyone should fight Dracula once in a while.) They agree to keep it vague both because they're not all that ready to tell their whole stories and because it's less hassle for me.


	5. Coda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little last bit joining up this story with the conclusion of season one, because that way it feels done to me. Introduces Ciri's point of view.

Ciri was having a very strange time, which by now was almost normal, but it was strange in new ways. She felt safe with Geralt. He was a stranger, and a very large man, and by any reasonable standard he looked scary, not to mention he smelled terrible, but she felt safe with him in a very real and strong way that she hadn’t felt for far too long a time. When she ran into his arms and he held her tightly everything felt  _ right. _ She didn’t exactly know whether to describe him as her guardian or her stepfather or what, but she felt very strongly that she could depend on him to stay with her and to take care of her no matter what. Her grandmother had been quite right. That was destiny. 

That was terribly confusing. She wanted to trust the feeling because it  _ was _ so strong, but everything had been so bewildering and dangerous and changeable lately that she had to keep questioning it. She took comfort from his huge, warm, stolid presence at the same time as wondering about everything he said and did and whether there was something else behind it. She didn’t know things about him that she could ask to test him, the way she had with the terrible thing that had disguised itself as poor Mousesack, so she could only look at whether his words and behaviour now seemed consistent. Geralt took charge, he clearly knew exactly what he meant to do to keep the two of them out of harm’s way, yet he often looked at her as if she made him nervous or spoke to her with surprising hesitation. It wasn’t the way common people often hesitated when speaking to a princess, not that she had heard any of that for a while. He just seemed… shy?

What he had told her was that they were going to the place he grew up, Kaer Morhen, where he could keep her safe through the winter months and where they could plan what to do next. There would be people he knew and trusted there, and they would protect her too. No one would harm her at Kaer Morhen. He said this with perfect certainty and Ciri wanted to believe he was right. Still, she was watchful and wary, even while she sat leaning against Geralt, half asleep in the crook of his arm, her head bouncing against his shoulder as the wagon they rode in bumped over the rutted road into a town where they would rest for the night. 

Geralt was clearly in two minds about venturing into towns or camps or anywhere with many people. He wanted to keep them both out of sight as much as possible, but he also fretted constantly about whether Ciri was warm enough and had enough to eat and was able to sleep. She tried to tell him not to worry, that she had been sleeping on the ground with only her coat for a blanket and eating and drinking whatever she could get since she’d fled the castle in Cintra, but that only seemed to worry him more. Whenever possible, as they travelled, he would get them a room in an inn so she could sleep in a bed and have a hot meal. He shared the meal, but tended to sleep sitting up in a chair, she suspected with one eye open. They presented themselves as father and daughter; her name was Fiona and his was (her choice) Gareth, because it was close enough to Geralt to be easy for both of them to remember, and a nice solid dependable sort of name. She would  _ like _ him to be a Gareth sort of person. 

As long as they had to be among other people, Geralt would cautiously ask for news. Sometimes she did it, because she was less memorable than he was, with his strange eyes and his white hair. He was particularly worried about what had happened at Sodden, with stories coming through of a terrible battle between the Nilfgaardian forces and a group of mages. Not just worried as you might be hearing about any terrible battle as Nilfgaard advanced; she had the strong impression that he knew someone he was sure had been there and he was afraid for them, but he didn’t know for certain and was trying not to worry her with it. He was probably hoping to hear something more definite at the inn tonight. She could feel for him, but she also felt a bit numb to people dying. It happened so much, again and again. She could hardly absorb the idea of any more, and she knew it was still going on all the time. 

They arrived at the inn and Geralt helped her down; she was stiff and cramped from being curled up in the cold and needed to shrug and stretch and stamp her feet to feel more normal. After he had paid the wagon driver, they went in to enquire for a room. Ciri held Geralt’s hand and walked in his shadow where it felt safest. 

The big barroom was full and noisy with voices. There were all kinds of travellers, many of them ragged and shocked-looking, their faces pinched and their eyes dull, but at least in here it was warm and dry. There was even someone playing music over by the big fireplace, a lute and a pleasant voice singing “Chamomile and Buttercup,” a silly song about a boy and girl in love which she was fairly sure was secretly quite rude. Geralt’s grip on her hand had tightened and she looked up to him and then around to see if there was some danger he had noticed. He was staring at the singer, a youngish man with brown hair and blue eyes in a leaf-green suit that had seen better days, as he finished the song and bowed to the audience and accepted their coins with smiles and winks and friendly, cheeky words. He shuffled off to the side of the fireplace, slung his lute behind his back and stood counting over his money, preoccupied. Ciri glanced up again at Geralt. He had changed from staring as if astonished to staring as if he was seeing the most beautiful thing in the world. The singer was quite nice-looking, Ciri supposed, but that seemed excessive. She’d never seen Geralt’s face show that much feeling unless he was looking at her.

He took one step forward, and another, and then the singer looked up from the cap full of coins and saw them and his face flowered with recognition and delight. He shot across the room and threw his arms around Geralt who caught him and hugged him tightly, one-armed so as not to let go of Ciri’s hand.

“Where have you  _ been? _ How  _ long _ has it been? I was afraid you were dead!”

“A lot has happened. You’re safe?”

“Of course I’m safe, I’m always safe. Oh, look at you.” He stepped back a bit and held Geralt’s face between his hands; he looked as if he was close to crying, his face pink and his blue eyes shining. 

“Look at you. What happened here?” Geralt asked, touching the singer’s chin. He had a small soft beard along the edge of his jaw and a nicely curled moustache. “I thought you couldn’t grow it out.”

“Well, it wasn’t entirely voluntary. I’ve been having an  _ interesting _ time. For a few weeks I was helping some refugees hide out, and things were a little intense, and I broke my shaving mirror, and I had to give my razor to a young lady who needed something for self-defence, and after the itching died down it helped keep my face warm.” He placed his hand over Geralt’s a little sheepishly. All right. Geralt had talked as if all his close friends were at Kaer Morhen but this person clearly knew him very well indeed, and was just as soppy over Geralt as Geralt was over him. “Anyway, they all got away, and I was able to replace my accoutrements, and it seemed like a waste to shear it all off. But I did just make myself a bit more presentable. I’m so happy to see you.” He hugged Geralt again, his eyes closed tight. 

“I’m happy too,” Geralt said quietly. He glanced down at Ciri and looked embarrassed. “Uh. Jaskier, I need you to meet someone.”

Jaskier, if that was his name, let go of Geralt and looked down at her, his eyebrows rising in surprise. 

“This is my old friend Jaskier, the bard,” Geralt said to her. “Jaskier, this is —”

“I know who you must be,” Jaskier said. “So it’s really you. You’re the image of your mother. Nothing like your father. Probably for the best. Sorry, that was a stupid thing to say.”

“Speaking as her father,” Geralt said, giving him a sharp look, “I agree she’s not much like me. Her name is Fiona.”

‘Fiona,” said Jaskier, “I’m honoured to meet you.”

“Did you know my mother?” she asked. 

“Only slightly,” he said. “At least, I saw her once, for an evening. I saw her both very sad and very happy. A wonderful face, either way, and a very brave woman.”

People often called her grandmother brave, and it was true, but she didn’t remember hearing it much about her mother. That made Jaskier more interesting to her.

“Anyway,” said Jaskier, “I have a room upstairs. Would the two of you like to come up with me, and we can have some supper sent up, and you can tell me everything that’s been happening?”

“I think that would be best,” said Geralt.

“Come on, then,” said Jaskier, and led them to the stairs. 

His room was warm, with a fire burning brightly in the grate. There was a big double bed which looked invitingly comfortable to Ciri’s tired head, and a little table with two chairs.

“You were expecting someone?” Geralt asked. 

“I live in hope,” said Jaskier. He pulled out a chair for Ciri with a gallant little bow. “How fortunate that I did,” he said. “Now if you two want to stay here tonight, I’m sure they’ll bring us up a cot, and there’s a bathroom along the hall. In fact, Fiona, you look chilly, would you like to have a hot bath right away before your supper?”

“It’s Cirilla,” Geralt said in a low tone.

“Ciri, really,” she said. 

“Well, yes, I gathered as much. I wasn’t sure how incognito we were being. Noms de guerre and so on.”

“We’re calling him Gareth,” said Ciri, pointing to Geralt. Jaskier kept a straight face but his eyes danced.

“Gareth, is it? I like it. You  _ look _ rather like a Gareth.”

“You look exactly like a Jaskier,” said Geralt.

“I’m actually not going by Jaskier at the moment. I’m currently Julian, but I’m obviously Jaskier to you at all times.”

“I would quite like a bath,” said Ciri. “If that’s all right.”

“Of course it is,” said Geralt. “I’ll wait for you outside.”

“You could wait here with me,” said Jaskier, a bit quickly. 

“I’m not leaving her alone,” said Geralt.

“I’ll be all right,” said Ciri.

“I’m not leaving you alone,” Geralt repeated calmly. 

“Well,” said Jaskier a little sourly, “you’re a very dutiful parent. Ciri, I have a clean shirt that you can borrow for a nightgown. I’ll find that for you, and I’ll go and see about supper and the cot.”

The bath was wonderful. The water was hot and clear and she finally got to scrub however many weeks’ dirt and dust and cinders out of her hair. She was conscious of Geralt having to wait for her in the hall outside, so she didn’t take longer than she needed to, but oh, the relief of getting really, really clean was wonderful. There had been a time when being clean every day had seemed normal and not special at all. Her hair had been shiny and her hands had been smooth and soft, not chapped with red knuckles and black lines under her nails the way they were now. She was grateful to Jaskier for the clean shirt, so she didn’t have to put her dirty clothes back on. It was a bit inadequate as a nightgown, since it only came down to her knees, but once she was in bed that wouldn’t matter. He had given her soap and shampoo as well, and a comb; he seemed to be a very well-equipped traveller and quite a contrast with Geralt. Jaskier wouldn’t have been out of place at court, singing and complimenting ladies. It was hard to imagine how the two of them were friends. 

When she was dressed in the shirt and had combed out her damp hair she scurried back along the draughty passageway under Geralt’s escort to Jaskier’s room. There was food on the table, bread and cheese and cold meat and preserves, a bottle of wine and a mug of hot milk with honey and nutmeg for her. 

“Something else for you to put on,” said Jaskier, holding out a dressing gown. “Managed to borrow it from the landlady. And if you want to wash out your smalls and hang them in front of the fireplace they should be dry in the morning.”

“Smalls — oh. Do laundry?” she asked, looking at the dingy bundle of her clothes she had carried back from the bathroom. “I… haven’t actually done that before.” Did you just wash everything with soap and water like your body? Did it work the same with your stockings and your shift? She’d just been wearing the same things and getting dirtier and dirtier with no real opportunity to wash them, if she had thought of it. Maybe she could have done it in the forest with the elves, or the kind woman who’d taken her in would have taught her how to do it if she’d stayed there. She wasn’t sure Geralt knew anything about laundry either. From the smell of him, almost certainly not.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jaskier said. “Let the adults take care of it. Just sit down and eat up. And Geralt, you should have a bath too. You are  _ ripe _ .”

Ciri applied herself to the food with an excellent appetite. Jaskier looked restless. After a minute he exclaimed brightly, “Would you look at that! Geralt forgot to take a towel with him. I’ll go and give him one, you just sit tight here,” and hurried out. He was gone for quite a few minutes more than you would think it took to give someone a towel, and came back looking extremely cheerful and with his shirt not properly tucked in any more. Ciri wasn’t sure exactly what was going on there but she suspected it was something her grandfather would have made some off-colour jokes about. That reminded her of how weird and embarrassing he could be, and how she’d never again be able to roll her eyes and tell him he was being gross, and somehow that, rather than all the thoughts of how terrible it was that he’d died on the battlefield, made her unexpectedly sob. 

“Oh dear,” said Jaskier, sitting down beside her and offering her a handkerchief. “What’s the matter, pet?”

She couldn’t explain, only cried and wiped her eyes and blew her nose and cried some more. Jaskier patted her back, and gave her a napkin when the handkerchief was soaked through, and made little sympathetic sounds. Eventually the tears dried up, and she finished the hot milk and at his suggestion had a little bit of the wine to brace her up. 

“Thank you,” she said, “and I’m sorry about your handkerchief.”

“Think nothing of it,” he said. “I always carry a spare to oblige a lady. I expect you’re very tired and things have been hard for you for a while. Geralt isn’t always the most understanding, either.”

“No, he’s been very kind,” Ciri said, sniffing hard. “I’m so glad I finally found him. Do you know about us? That he’s supposed to be my destiny?”

“Yes, and you his. Although that was a bit of an accident. I was actually there the night it all went down. Geralt claimed the Law of Surprise and then no one was more surprised than him to realise what he’d won. Things work out in unexpected ways, though, don’t they? Even before he went to fetch you, he was all anxious about being a fit parent for you. He cares about you very much.”

“Have you known him for a long time?” Ciri asked. 

“Years before you were born,” said Jaskier. “I’m a bit of an authority on Geralt. What do you think of him so far?”

“He’s… he’s kind,” she said again. “He doesn’t talk very much.”

“He does eventually, once you get him warmed up, but that takes a while.”

“I feel very safe with him, but I also don’t know whether I can really trust him. Or you. Or anyone.”

“That’s fair enough,” said Jaskier. “Can I just say I am so sorry about what’s happened to you? No one should have to lose all their family, especially at your age.”

“Thank you,” said Ciri, although the thought just made her feel empty. She was still a bit hungry. There was a time when being upset would have taken her appetite away, but these days no matter how she was feeling, if there was food she would have some of it. No knowing when the next opportunity would be. Sometimes you had to be unfeeling. She took another piece of bread and buttered it.

“And I’m sure you’ll need to come to this conclusion in your own time,” said Jaskier, “but you’re right to feel safe with Geralt. He’s the best man I know. He’s also stiff and grumpy and unsociable and I’m pretty sure he believes all horses are better than people.”

That made Ciri laugh a little. 

“How’s Roach?” Jaskier asked.

“Who’s Roach?”

“Geralt’s horse. Has he not got Roach any more? That’s a damn shame, he really loved her. I hope she’s all right, wherever she is.”

“Do you love Geralt?” Ciri asked. 

“More than anyone else in the world,” he said simply. 

“He didn’t tell me anything about you.”

“He probably wouldn’t. I both love him more than anyone else in the world, and freely acknowledge he’s a tight-lipped bugger with more secrets than scars. I like that, I need to remember that. Scuse me a moment,” he said, getting up and going over to a bag that hung over the bedpost. He took out a notebook and a bit of pencil and wrote. “More secrets than scars. I won’t use the ‘tight-lipped bugger’ part, it’s unpoetic even if it is very true.”

Geralt sat in the bath, mentally retreading everything that had just happened. The door opening and Jaskier rushing in, dumping a towel on the floor and seizing him, half undressed as he was, and kissing him like his life depended on it. He’d grabbed him and kissed back because there was simply nothing else his body would do, even as he wanted to growl at him for leaving Ciri alone. The silly little beard and moustache scratched and tickled, and he was going to ask Jaskier to get rid of them; his bottom perfectly filled Geralt’s two hands and squirmed as he squeezed it. 

“I love you,” Jaskier panted against his lips.

“I love you,” he said, and “You mustn’t leave Ciri alone.” 

“Ciri is perfectly fine, she is clearly a very sensible girl and you cannot possibly expect me to stay away from you right now. I’ve missed you with my whole entire body. It’s never been this long before. The world’s gone to absolute shit and I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again and if it wasn’t for the fact you frankly stink I would be fucking you right now.” Geralt could feel Jaskier’s erection straining against him, and it would be pointless to pretend he wasn’t having the same reaction at his slower pace. He kissed him and fumbled with the lacing of his pants and between the two of them they managed to get undone, Jaskier’s cock in his hand and his in Jaskier’s, rubbing frantically. 

“I can’t stink that badly,” he said between kisses. 

“You stink to high heaven, I just love you more than you stink.”

“You smell wonderful.”

“Gods, that’s good.”

“Jaskier, I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“I haven’t come in weeks and this may be messy.”

“I came at lunchtime and it’s still going to be messy.”

It was, but it was also utterly joyful and loving. He hadn’t allowed himself to dwell on how much he was missing Jaskier because there was far too much going on that was far more important and potentially deadly than his own feelings of love and loneliness, and up to the moment he saw him downstairs, if anyone had asked (not that anyone knew enough to ask) he would have said his feelings were far more bound up in Ciri, who he was rather shocked to find he already loved, in the disturbing resurgence of memories about his mother, and in fearing for Yennefer since he had heard about the mages fighting at Sodden; that he had no energy left over for Jaskier feelings. If anything he had wondered if he wasn’t able to love Jaskier any more, if his feelings were used up. Then Jaskier was actually in front of him and his heart thumped and everything around them rushed away and he was overwhelmingly in love again. It had felt dreamlike and unreal. Then the second thump, on the outside, when Jaskier’s chest collided with his as they embraced, had made everything real and physical and he was surrounded by Jaskier’s smell and his warmth and only a lifetime of emotional reserve and an awareness of the child whose hand he was still holding stopped him kissing him on the spot. 

All the rest was still there, love and concern for Ciri, love and pain and rage for Mother, love and terror and the beginning of grief for Yennefer, alongside the tremendous comfort and pleasure of loving Jaskier so very, very much. It didn’t seem as if he should be allowed that. It was surely a huge distraction from how much he should care and think and worry about Ciri, the one person he could actually help and protect and keep with him. It was absolutely wrong that at a time when he should never let Ciri out of his sight unless absolutely necessary (he clearly had to give her privacy for things like bathing but he was always nervous the whole time he couldn’t see her) he suddenly urgently wanted her to be safely away somewhere so he could dive into bed with Jaskier and feel utterly filled with sweaty, panting love. He was ashamed of that. At the same time the love and comfort and pleasure were undeniable — and he found that while he was annoyed with Jaskier for leaving Ciri in the room alone to come to him in the bathroom, he was far less nervous right now, knowing Jaskier was keeping an eye on her again. Jaskier was obviously not someone who could defend Ciri physically the way he could, but it turned out he trusted him to watch over her and see to her needs short of that. 

He washed himself quickly but thoroughly, because it wasn’t nice to be told he stank even in tones of ardent love and desire, and washed and wrung out Ciri’s woolly stockings and fine linen shift along with his black shirt. That left him with nothing to put on his upper body when he got dressed again, and that felt wrong and immodest when he was going to be around Ciri, so he sort of draped a towel around his neck and shoulders like a shawl and felt better about that. There were so many awkward things about having a child with him, and a girl of Ciri’s age, that he just hadn’t anticipated. He was happy to sleep in a chair so she could have a bed to herself; with a much younger child or a boy he might have felt it was fine to share the bed, but he was worried about what Ciri would think of him and the last thing he wanted her to feel was the slightest worry that the grown man on whom she was now dependent for her care felt anything but a fatherly love for her. She needed to feel safe. He only hoped she felt similarly safe alone with Jaskier. She  _ was _ safe, but she couldn’t be expected to know that for sure. 

Oh hell, he’d left his daughter alone with a strange man (to her) when she was only dressed in a shirt and a dressing gown, what was  _ wrong _ with him? He hurried back to the room and then tried his best not to look as if he’d hurried, because if Ciri  _ wasn’t  _ afraid of Jaskier then he didn’t want to take that away and spook her by acting as if he was a threat. 

She seemed perfectly all right, though. They were sitting at the table together eating supper and Jaskier had just said something that made Ciri laugh. She had a sweet little giggle that crinkled her nose, and he felt a wave of love for both of them in their different ways. 

“Welcome back,” said Jaskier, managing not to look at his chest lasciviously, which was noble of him. “You look like you feel better — and I didn’t smell you approaching, so that’s good.”

“I feel much better,” he said. There was a little airing rack next to the fireplace for travellers’ clothes and he pulled it out and draped his shirt and Ciri’s things over it to dry. There was a tap at the door then, which proved to be a boy bringing up a cot and bedding. Geralt made up the cot, because it seemed like something he should do for Ciri even if he wasn’t especially good at it. He suddenly remembered the time he’d spent in the hunting lodge with Jaskier, and the day they’d changed the sheets on their bed because, to be honest, they were getting rather unsavoury after several days’ passionate and well-lubricated sex, also a bout of amateur surgery that had resulted in a few blood spots. Jaskier had been in a frisky mood and kept fooling around, hitting him with pillows or scrambling under the clean bottom sheet when they billowed it up over the bed to get it properly spread out, and he’d had to tackle him and wrestle him into something approaching submission, if submission was still acting like a cheeky brat who was very, very pleased with himself and very, very aware of how beautiful and touchable he was. He’d been even worse when they were trying to wash the sheets.

It occurred to him that it was never going to be like that again. Even if they stayed together, they would be a family of sorts together with Ciri. You couldn’t just spontaneously make love in the middle of making the bed with a child in the… not house, but wherever they might end up. He realised he had no experience of a normal family life but he was fairly sure that was how it went. On the other hand, couples with children tended to continue having more children if they were able, so clearly they didn’t feel totally inhibited by their little ones being nearby. He was getting ahead of himself; he didn’t even know whether Jaskier still wanted to help raise Ciri because they had never talked about it again. His present kindness didn’t mean he was in for anything more. That would also mean asking him to come to Kaer Morhen, at least for the winter, and how could he do that? It was virtually impossible to imagine Jaskier there. Like a flower in the middle of a snowfield. How would he begin to explain him to the others? Explaining Ciri would be easy by comparison. “Here’s a child I have adopted because of a smart-arse remark made to avoid a serious decision” versus “Here’s a beautiful and frivolous man I’ve fallen deeply in love with in defiance of everything we’ve always understood about my personality. And who I’ve known for over twenty years and not mentioned to you.”

While he was making the bed he was half listening to Ciri and Jaskier talking. 

“How did you meet Geralt?” she asked.

“In a pub,” said Jaskier. “That’s not a very unique or interesting story, is it? I was singing, and he was resolutely unimpressed with me, and I naturally became totally fascinated with him. It was a bit like how a cat always goes to the one person in a room who doesn’t like cats and is hoping it won’t notice them.”

That made her laugh again, and while Geralt found the topic mildly annoying he was glad to hear her sounding happy.

“So you were jumping in his lap purring and he was trying to push you off?”

“That is  _ exactly _ what it was like.”

“Then he didn’t like you right away?”

“He found me incredibly irritating. Isn’t that right, Geralt?”

“Yes,” he said briefly, tucking in sheets. 

“Because I was chatty and perky and persistent and cute and  _ persistent. _ ”

“And vain and cocky and naïve,” Geralt pointed out. “He followed me into danger having no idea what he was getting himself into,” he told Ciri.

“But then when did you fall in love?”

Geralt felt his face turn scarlet. Thankfully, he was facing away from her as he worked. All right, he hadn’t tried to  _ hide _ that his relationship with Jaskier was affectionate, but he’d thought they would appear to her to be dear friends, not in love with each other. It must be Jaskier who had blown it, making calf eyes at him, or possibly some untoward remark while he’d been in the bath. What was she going to think of them? Of him?

Jaskier, of course, was completely unembarrassed and happy to talk about it. “Oh, I fell in love when I met him. Hence all the jumping and purring. It took Geralt forever. He had to work his way up to it extremely gradually — it took years for him just to accept that we were friends. We had some ups and downs and at one point we weren’t speaking, but I was the person he turned to when he was under a curse that —”

“Hey!” Geralt exclaimed, turning around and glaring. “That is not a story you should be telling a child!” He couldn’t believe Jaskier thought that was appropriate. Perhaps he wasn’t to be trusted with Ciri after all.

“A curse,” Jaskier said, staring back and smirking, “that could only be broken by True Love’s Kiss. Just like the fairy tales.”

“It’s all right, Geralt,” said Ciri. “I do know about kissing. I think everyone knows about kissing.” She seemed to think she needed to soothe him down, and he didn’t want her to worry about his temper, but right now he wanted to throw Jaskier out the window. At least he wasn’t telling Ciri an extremely smutty story, but he was deliberately messing with Geralt and enjoying his confusion.

“Geralt is surprisingly shy and modest about these things,” said Jaskier, piling it on and swirling the wine in his glass. “So he’s embarrassed. That’s nothing to how embarrassed he was having to ask me to help him. He can also be very proud and stubborn, but he didn’t want to die of a curse and he knew, of course, that I loved him, and eventually, after much hesitation, and only after I’d delivered said kiss and delivered him from his doom, he managed to admit that he loved me too.”

“That’s a very nice story,” said Ciri. She looked a little bit sceptical, and Geralt was grateful to her for not giving the reaction Jaskier was probably looking for, gushing about how romantic it all was. He looked slightly crestfallen, which served him right. “But if you were in love, I don’t understand why you haven’t seen each other for ages.”

“We just have very different lives,” said Jaskier. “We both travel most of the time, and the places our professions take us aren’t often the same. Still, we keep on finding each other again, even when we’re not trying, which I think is destiny nudging us back together. Meeting and parting, but always meeting again. Even in the middle of all this,” he gestured to the outside world at large, “life brings Geralt back to me, and I’m deeply thankful for it.” His eyes were soft as he looked at him now, and Geralt felt himself softening also, at least downgrading from “throwing out a window” to “kicking in the back of the knee.”

“So you have two destined people?” Ciri asked.

“I don’t think we should dwell too much on destiny,” said Geralt. “Your bed’s ready.” He stopped and bit his lip. Without really thinking about it, he’d assumed Ciri would sleep on the cot and he and Jaskier would share the bed, since it was large enough for two people and it wouldn’t be right for either of them to share with Ciri. That much was obvious. That was when he was thinking Ciri saw the two of them as close friends. Now he was embarrassed to look as if his whole plan was to get to sleep in the same bed with Jaskier. He  _ did _ want to sleep with Jaskier, just  _ sleep,  _ because he hadn’t slept properly since before he found Ciri and being close to him always gave him the best and deepest sleep. Maybe he should sit up and watch after all. It would be safer. “Unless you want the big bed,” he said to Ciri. “Where would you be more comfortable?”

“The cot,” she said firmly. “You deserve to have a good night’s sleep. I can see how tired you are.”

“I’m all right,” he assured her. 

“You’re exhausted,” said Jaskier. “Your eyes are bloodshot, you’re having to concentrate on everything you do with your hands so they don’t shake or fumble, and you’re trying to control it but you’re getting cranky. You definitely need to sleep. Two against one. We’re ganging up on you.” He and Ciri exchanged a triumphant glance and Geralt realised that they were already in cahoots. Somehow they’d just drawn together against him. Granted, they were only conspiring to make him go to bed, but this could definitely have more sinister implications down the line.

“You don’t tell me what to do,” he pointed out calmly to Jaskier.

“Cranky,” said Jaskier smugly.

“I’m not cranky!”

“You sound like a toddler. A very big, beefy, hairy toddler.”

“I’m not tired!” said Ciri in a piping voice, and mimed rubbing her eyes with her knuckles.

“You’re both being ridiculous,” Geralt said, with dignity. 

“We’re being kind to you, knobhead,” said Jaskier. “Watch out, or we’ll send you to bed with no supper.” 

Geralt glared at him, went over and picked him up out of his chair by the underarms, pushed him aside, sat down and began eating. 

“That’s how to handle him,” Jaskier said to Ciri, straightening his jacket.

“Thank you for showing me,” she said, beaming. 

“I’m not being handled,” Geralt said, “I’m just hungry.” He felt resentful, and aware that it was foolish to be resentful, of how Jaskier was working his cheeky charm on Ciri, so easy and friendly. He loved her and thought she knew it, and it felt like she trusted him when she leaned against him or clung to his hand, but they weren’t friendly, their relationship wasn’t  _ fun _ . Oh. He wasn’t resentful, he was jealous. He hadn’t realised you could be jealous of a child’s affection, and he felt foolish again.

At least it was a good meal. It was still only early evening, but Ciri was yawning, and Jaskier suggested that they both go to bed early. “I haven’t been travelling all day so I’m not as weary as you,” he said, “so I’ll go downstairs for a while and let you get to sleep.” Geralt swung from being embarrassed about wanting to share Jaskier’s bed to being disappointed that he wouldn’t after all; at least, probably not until he was asleep and wouldn’t necessarily know Jaskier was coming to bed, if he was quiet about it. When he was in bed, and mildly uncomfortable wearing his dirty trousers in there, but seeing no alternative, it occurred to him that Jaskier was really being kind. It would have been torture to lie in bed beside Jaskier, able to smell him, to feel the warmth from his skin, seeing his eyes and his lips and the crisply curling hair on his chest, and telling himself that he couldn’t touch him. He wasn’t keen on the beard but there was one thing about it; somehow, instead of making Jaskier look more handsome and less pretty, it managed to make his lips look prettier. Lying here feeling disappointed was definitely preferable to lying here with a throbbing erection and nothing he could do with it. He would feel ashamed to even be in that condition in the same room with Ciri.

“Geralt?” she whispered from her little bed. 

“Hmm?”

“I like Jaskier. I’m glad we ran into him.”

“Me too.” She didn’t usually talk to him before falling asleep, and he wondered how much he should encourage it or if he should just tell her to go to sleep now.

“Does he ever visit Kaer Morhen?”

“He’s never been there. I’ve never told him about it. Did you?” Rather than talking over their recent experiences and next plans, they had all ended up focusing on immediate needs like baths, food and bed.

“Why have you never told him?” Ciri sounded baffled.

“That’s not how our… relationship works. There are a lot of things in our pasts that we’ve never discussed, because we decided to concentrate on our present together.”

“But you do love him?”

“Of course I love him.”  _ You’re just the first person, other than him, that I’ve told. _

“You did look at him as if you loved him.” A pause. “Are you going to tell him where we’re going? And ask him to come too?”

“Of course I’ll tell him where we’re going. And he’ll ask me a hundred and one questions about it, you’ll see.”

“Geralt?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to keep secrets. Especially when you love someone. I wish my grandmother hadn’t kept you a secret, and she’d let me meet you earlier. Everything would have been easier that way.”

“Maybe it would. I’m not keeping secrets from Jaskier, though. These are just things I haven’t had any reason to tell him. When there’s a good reason, I do.”

“Have you told your Kaer Morhen people about him?” Ciri asked. 

“I haven’t had any reason to,” he said. 

“Are they not your friends?”

“They’re more like my family.”

“Why wouldn’t you tell your family about someone you love?”

“Ciri, it’s time you went to sleep.”

“Would they disapprove of him and say you can’t be together?”

“No, not at all.” He paused. “Well, they might disapprove of him a little, but that’s just his personality.”

“You didn’t say, are you going to ask him to come with us?”

“I… don’t know. He’s got his own life to live. He’s been kind to us tonight, but you shouldn’t take it for granted that he can go on helping.”

“No, I know that. But I want you to ask.” Another pause. “Please ask.” 

“I’ll tell him where we’re going, and I’ll tell him he’s welcome to come with us if he wants to,” Geralt said, as a compromise. 

“If your family don’t like Jaskier I don’t think I’ll like your family,” said Ciri, with a very faint suggestion of huff in her voice. 

“He won you over fast,” Geralt said, amused. Girls did tend to like Jaskier. Possibly she even had a little crush on him. That seemed harmless as long as she didn’t do anything silly, and he agreed with Jaskier’s assessment that Ciri was a very sensible girl. 

“Well, don’t you think he’s a nice person?”

“I think he’s a very nice person.”

“I just saw it faster than you,” said Ciri. “Good night.” She rolled over and snuggled into her pillow.

“Good night.”

Jaskier waited a good couple of hours before he went back up. He filled in the time playing and getting more tips, and chatting with people and learning the news, and passing it on to others. Apparently there had been some kind of terrible firestorm at Sodden, something only mages could have done. He wondered what had really gone on up there, and if Yennefer had gone. Geralt was probably worried sick about her, but he wasn’t letting on. It was clearly easier for him just to worry about Ciri, which he did. People often described a handsome, rather sombre and intense man like Geralt as “brooding” but you had to remember “brooding” was also what a mother hen did. If he was going with them he would need to run interference for Ciri sometimes to let her have time by herself. Geralt was clearly going to be one of those heavy protective fathers, the kind that he tended to run afoul of, and he wished any future admirers Ciri might have luck and a head start running. 

What a nice little girl she was, and what a relief that was! He wasn’t sure he could have stuck it if she were snotty or hysterical or whiny, which was why it was probably a good thing he wasn’t a parent. Obviously, the odds were that he  _ was, _ but nobody had turned up to show him a baby, so presumably they didn’t think of him as father material either, other than in the strictly procreative sense. He thought he could get along quite nicely with Ciri and be a great help to Geralt — and what a relief it would be to be with Geralt and his impressive bulk and his gift for applied violence, and not be looking over his shoulder all the time. There were times when he had wanted to just run away overseas, but he’d stayed on the continent because he still hoped they might find each other again, and because it did seem pretty cowardly to flee a war when it was so much easier for him than for a lot of people. 

He tried to do his part by carrying news, running errands and raising morale. There were times when the morale part felt cheap and shabby, when he looked at children with pale faces and eyes sunk in exhausted shadows and asked himself how he could possibly sing to them about magic and heroes, magic that wasn’t on their side and heroes that probably weren’t coming, but again and again people had thanked him for taking their minds off the invasion, reminding them of what the good times were like, reminding them of what they believed in. Those hollow-eyed children looked at him seriously and asked if it was true about heroes, and he would tell them that it absolutely was, that he knew a hero personally. The problem was only that there weren’t enough heroes in the world, but if they were brave, they could change that.

He really, really hoped he didn’t give them false hope, but false hope was surely better than none. 

Ciri was a lost princess, but she had the same weary, wary look in her eyes as so many common children who’d been driven from their homes. She had such an interesting face, very much like her mother’s in that although she had the  _ components _ of a beautiful princess, with rippling blonde hair and blue eyes and a rose-petal complexion, there was a  _ strangeness _ about her bones, a raw, peaky quality to her features, that meant those components didn’t unite to create the impression simply of beauty. That sounded mean, as if he was calling a little girl weird-looking, but it meant she was a lot more memorable than many prettier girls that he’d seen. It would be interesting to see how she turned out as she grew up.

He knew he was lurking downstairs and thinking about irrelevant things like Pavetta and Ciri’s bone structure because it would be so difficult to go upstairs, get into bed beside Geralt, and just lie down and go to sleep when his whole body, admittedly one part in particular, wanted to join with Geralt’s. He was getting sleepy now, though, and hopefully Geralt would be sleeping already and thus marginally less alluring than when he was awake and looking at him and speaking to him.

He went upstairs and slipped into the room. The only light was from the fireplace, low and rosy. Ciri was just visible as a bump under the blankets with a lot of tangled blonde hair spilling out. He tiptoed past her, went to the far side of the bed, put down his lute and took off his shoes, pants and jacket before crawling into bed in his shirt and socks. Geralt’s chest was bare but he was wearing his trousers. Well, Jaskier couldn’t sleep with tight trousers on so he’d just have to put his back on before he got out of bed. He was lying on his side, facing away from Jaskier, so he didn’t have to be tempted by seeing his face, his neck or his chest, although Geralt’s back was also pretty tempting. Jaskier longed to snuggle up to it and spoon him, but told himself that was a very bad idea. He lay on his back and stared at the dark ceiling and listened to Geralt’s beloved breathing and wondered how he’d ever thought he could go to sleep. Shortly after that he did. 

Ciri woke from a nightmare and lay frozen under her blankets, panting, her eyes darting as she assured herself that she was actually only in bed, she wasn’t fleeing through an icy forest with the black knight on his horse running her down, trying desperately to scream and unable to make a sound.  _ All right, _ she told herself.  _ Just a dream. Frightening, but just a dream. Geralt is right over there and if there’s any real danger he’ll certainly wake up and protect me. I shouldn’t wake him up for nothing, he’s exhausted. _ She wished like anything that she could crawl into bed beside him and just feel safe, but that was babyish. She was too wide awake to go back to sleep now, and she noticed the fire was very low, so she crept out of bed and went to put a couple more pieces of wood on the embers. Then she sat on the hearthrug watching the small flames lick along the surface of the wood and gradually bite in and burn. She wondered what time it was — very near morning? Or was there a lot of night still to go?

There was a sound from the bed and she looked over to see that Jaskier was getting out, pulling his trousers up. He shuffled sleepily past her and out of the room — to the lavatory, she supposed. After a while he returned, looking a bit more awake, and crouched down beside her. 

“Are you all right?” he asked quietly. 

“Yes, thank you,” she whispered back. “You can go back to bed.” 

“Well, I’m awake now,” he said, and sat on the floor, drowsily scratching his head. Clearly he thought she shouldn’t be left alone if she might be feeling upset, which was kind of him but also a bit bothersome. She would really have liked to just have quiet so she could sit and watch the flames and think about nothing. She tried to think of something polite she could say, and remembered something she was actually interested in. 

“You said you saw my mother before I was born,” she said. 

“Mmhmm,” said Jaskier. 

“And you thought she was brave?”

“Very brave, to defy everyone so she could be with the man she loved — especially when he was a man most people wouldn’t understand why she loved. You know he’d been cursed? Very… unusual-looking.”

“Why were you there that night?”

“To perform. I was very excited to play for the famous Queen Calanthe. I thought she was going to love me. Instead she arrived late, in full armour, covered in blood and glory, in a ripsnorting good mood, and told me I could sing the rather soulful ballad I was proud of at her funeral and to play a jig instead so people could dance. Really took the wind out of my sails, I can tell you.”

“And Geralt?”

“He came with me. At my request. Although not in the way you might think, I didn’t just invite him along to spend a rather special evening together. He was there to look large and intimidating and protect me from some important people I’d… rather offended. Just in case they saw me and came over wanting to have a  _ word _ with me. That was during his 'we’re not friends but I’ll put up with an amazing amount of familiarity and intimacy from someone I claim is not my friend' period. I have to say he looked especially handsome that night, he wore something I’d chosen for him — not black, for once. Nothing about that evening turned out as planned for pretty much anyone, I would say, but at least Geralt looked fine.”

“The ripsnorting, blood and glory part doesn’t really sound like the way I remember my grandmother.”

“Well, I gather she’d changed a lot in the years since then. People do change. For better or worse. Sometimes just different. It sounds as if she changed for you.” He glanced at her and added, “Not that it’s really for me to say, I never knew her well.”

“There’s so much that I don’t know or understand about her,” Ciri said. “All the decisions she made and why she chose as she did. If you’re a leader you have to make choices for everyone, and sometimes they… they just think you’re terrible. I know she did hurt people. I don’t think she did things carelessly, for no reason, though. I wish I could talk to her about it but now I never will. That’s so sad, isn’t it? But at the moment I don’t feel sad. I can’t feel anything. Why can’t I feel anything?”

“I don’t know,” said Jaskier. “We don’t always feel the way we expect to, I suppose. You’re certainly not the only person feeling a bit… numb right now.” He cast another sideways look at her. “Look, this might be the last thing you want to hear just now, and I won’t be offended at all if you tell me no. After what Calanthe said about me singing at her funeral, I was miffed with her and I started writing this satirical song that I called ‘Lament for a Lioness,’ where I pretended to be singing at her funeral and pretty much taking the piss out of everything she did. I shelved it because I could see I was only going to get myself into trouble with it. Anyway, I’d got the hurt pride out of my system writing it. Years went by and I didn’t think about it. With everything that’s happened to Cintra recently, I sort of revisited it and realised how much more there was to say, to try to sing honestly about her, what she was like and how she changed and what the world has lost with her. I ended up rewriting it completely. It uses the same tune, the joke was always that it would  _ sound _ like a real lament until you paid attention to the words. It’s not satire any more, though. So after that rather rambling preamble… do you think you would like to hear it?”

Geralt drifted out of a bleak dream in which he was walking among rows and rows of laid-out corpses, trying to distinguish through the blood and dirt and soot which one was Yennefer’s. He could hear soft music and Jaskier singing, quietly enough to be a lullaby. He wasn’t in their bed. Was he singing Ciri to sleep? Geralt rolled over towards the firelight and found that Jaskier was sitting on the floor by the fire, cross-legged, playing his lute. Ciri was sitting on her cot with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, watching him. The song wasn’t a lullaby. 

He was singing about the fall of Queen Calanthe, and for a moment anger blazed up in him; how could Jaskier be so heartless? To Calanthe’s own grandchild? But he was singing very gently. The song was sorrowful, even reverent. Ciri seemed to be listening with rapt attention. Then, as Jaskier’s voice glided into a verse about the Lioness and her Lion Cub, her shoulders began to tremble. Geralt sat up in bed and glared at Jaskier, who nodded at him and carried on singing. He could only be guessing when he sang about Calanthe’s protective love for Ciri, but it rang true to what Geralt remembered. Calanthe didn’t love in a soft or gentle way. She had no limits on what she would do if she meant it to protect what was hers. She’d thought she had a right first to fob him off with an impostor and then to keep him locked up until she needed him — her right as a queen and her right because Ciri was hers and she loved her more than anything. 

Ciri gave a little sob, and he made a cut gesture under his chin at Jaskier, whose only reply was to raise his eyebrows and jerk his head toward Ciri. “You,” he mouthed silently between verses. Geralt got out of bed and moved to sit on the cot beside Ciri, although it creaked dangerously under his weight along with hers. He put his arm around her shoulders and she fell against him, crying in earnest now with tears streaming down her face. He hadn’t seen her weep like that before.

“Great Cintra lies in ashes,   
The Lioness is no more,   
Yet if perchance her Cub still lives   
We may yet hear her roar,” Jaskier finished, letting a few last notes of the lute trail away, as if to say the story was unfinished.

“I wrote that last verse before I met you,” he said quietly. “I was just trying to finish off with something hopeful. I’m glad it’s more than that.”

“Are you all right?” Geralt asked Ciri. She sniffed, gulped down a sob, and nodded. 

“It’s a relief,” she managed to say, then wept again. Geralt shot Jaskier a questioning look over her head and Jaskier shrugged and pulled a little face, a tight-stretched awkward smile. He put down his lute and crawled over to sit at their feet. 

“Was it too much?” he asked. “I never know.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t really understand it. You  _ don’t _ know her, and you had to make things up, but it  _ felt _ true. Sh-she’ll never have a funeral, will she?”

“It seems a bit hard to arrange,” Jaskier said carefully. 

“But you sang for her,” Ciri said. “I — I think that would have really annoyed her,” and a giggle broke through the sobs like a bubble in a stream. “Oh, I wish she was still here to be annoyed. I wish he was here to be embarrassing and annoy her, I wish she could be cross with me again. I miss the  _ ordinary _ them so much and it’s not the same as the King and Queen being dead, but that’s the tragedy, isn’t it? That’s what matters.”

“It still matters,” said Geralt. “The ordinary part matters.” He was slightly at a loss, but he thought it was true. 

Ciri nestled her head into Geralt’s chest and stayed there quietly. “Your heart goes very slow,” she said after a while. 

“Still works, though,” said Jaskier. 

After a while more it was clear that Ciri was sleeping. Geralt eased her off him and back into bed, tucking her in, before returning to the large bed himself. Jaskier had already got in and was lying curled up on his side. He lay down facing him and whispered, “That turned out all right. But  _ don’t _ do things like that without consulting me.”

“It was a bit risky, but she seemed so bottled up and I just thought the right song might pop the cork, so to speak. Funerals are important, don’t you think? And she doesn’t get to have one, so I hoped I could provide… kind of the same service with a song.”

“There’s nothing wrong with  _ what _ you did,” Geralt tried to explain. “But don’t leave me out of things. She’s my child. She already seems to like you better than me. I need to be involved.”

“Yeah, she  _ is _ your child. She’s known me a few hours and I’ve been charming and lovely. I admit I’ve put on the charm a bit because I  _ do _ want her to like me. I’m not going to be a novelty forever, and you’re the one she wants comfort from.” He put his hand on Geralt’s bare shoulder and Geralt pulled back. “Um. Sorry.”

“I don’t want to start anything we can’t finish,” Geralt whispered. 

“I know, it’s just… I could do with a bit of comfort too. I haven’t seen you in so long, and I don’t know if you noticed out there, but it’s  _ scary _ lately.”

“I had noticed,” Geralt assured him. 

“And not monster scary. People scary, which is worse.”

“It’s all monsters,” Geralt said quietly. “I’ll hold your hand,” he offered. 

Jaskier smothered a giggle. “You’ll hold my hand. From the other side of the bed. Chastely.”

“Yes, take it or leave it.”

“Would you like to make a barrier between us with the pillows? Just in case.”

“Is that you leaving it?”

“No no no, I’ll take it. Please.” He held out his hand, palm up, and Geralt covered it with his own. “That’s a little better already,” he sighed. He stroked Geralt’s thumb with his.

“Don’t get frisky,” Geralt said, suppressing a smile. 

“Oh no. Wanton thumb-fondling.” He stopped, and lay quietly looking at him across the pillows. “I love you so much. I’m sorry I embarrassed you. I just got all excited to share it, and I admit I lapsed into questionable taste with the True Love’s Kiss thing.”

“And I love you… despite the constant embarrassment.” He pulled Jaskier’s hand closer and kissed the backs of his fingers. Jaskier yanked their joined hands back to the middle of the bed and hiss-whispered “Slut!” Then he had to hide his face in the pillow to laugh, smothered. Geralt managed not to laugh, but had to bite his lip and smile.

“Jaskier.”

“Mm?” Jaskier turned a rather flushed face back towards him. 

“Will you do one thing for me tomorrow?”

“I can try.”

“Please shave.”

“Oh, you don’t like this luxuriant efflorescence?” He stroked his chin meditatively.

“I like your face better without it.”

“I’ve been getting tired of keeping it in shape, so I’m happy to. But then I want you to as well. Clean smooth faces together.”

“I’ll do that.” 

“I’m happy with that.” They lay looking at each other a little longer, Geralt admiring the colour the low firelight lent to Jaskier’s face and the glow in his eyes. Just holding Jaskier’s hand was far from ideal, but it was good in and of itself. “What are you going to do tomorrow?” Jaskier asked softly. 

Geralt took a slow breath in. “Collect ourselves. I’m sorry to say, borrow money from you and buy some necessities.”

“No borrowing. Let me make it a gift.” 

“Thank you. Within reason. Then we’ll continue our journey. And you are welcome to come with us if you want to.”

“Where are you going, he asked as if the destination made any difference compared with the company?”

“Kaer Morhen. Where I grew up.”

Jaskier’s mouth opened silently. After a moment he closed it again, then said, “I feel like you’ve just opened a door to show me a new room in a house. Maybe a new wing that I didn’t know was there.” 

“It’s a safe place for Ciri while we regroup and work out what to do.”

“And I’m welcome?”

“You’re welcome. I don’t want you to feel any obligation. But I’ll be glad if you come.”

“It’ll be like old times. You won’t be able to get rid of me.”

“The old times are gone. Things are different now, but I still want you.”

“That’s really all I need to hear,” Jaskier said, smiling over their joined hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First Witcher fanfic done, woo!
> 
> (ETA: I was not done)


	6. First Night Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Geralt and Jaskier make themselves comfortable at Kaer Morhen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Necessary Disclaimer: I just barely know Kaer Morhen exists and is where Geralt grew up and he apparently has some brothers there, and he's going to take Ciri there in season 2 to keep her safe and teach her some witchering and also how to use eyebrow pencil. That's it. I cannot describe the place or the people for the life of me. That's okay, I'll just wait and see what it's like in the Netflix show, eventually. If what I've written is wildly inconsistent with that, well, it'll just stand as a memorial to my ignorance. The brother who speaks to Geralt at one point in this chapter? I don't know which one he is or anything. If he doesn't sound remotely like any of them, he's an OC brother I just made up. We'll call him Jeff. I just wanted to carry on with this story and keep writing Geralt and Jaskier fucking and talking and loving each other, and there's plenty of that in here.   
> There is probably a bit more to come but it's a rather long bit and I'm not sure when it will be finished.

“Well,” said Geralt, closing the bedroom door behind them, “what do you think of the place?”

“Oh,” said Jaskier, putting his bag down on the chest at the foot of the bed, “you know how sometimes you see where someone grew up and you just think, ‘Yes, this is  _ exactly _ the sort of place you would come from?’”

“Exactly? No surprises?”

“Surprises all over the place. I had no idea a place like this existed. But everything fits in. Dark, austere, forbidding… this isn’t your actual childhood bedroom, is it?” He walked around inspecting the minimal furnishings. “Is that the pillow you used to practise on for girls, for example? It looks a little flattened.”

“No, I shared a room then. I moved into this one as an adult.”

“Ah, dormitory hijinks. I remember them well. You’re watching the door. Expecting someone?”

“I wonder if I shouldn’t have stayed with Ciri until she fell asleep. Her first night in her new room.”

“Geralt, I say this with the greatest love and respect. I think Ciri is very glad to have a room of her own where she can be by herself, in private. She loves you but it’s not normal for a girl her age to have her dad with her constantly. Girls do a lot of thinking by themselves. They daydream and write in diaries and plan their lives and... try things out with their hair. I speak as a man with sisters. They don’t like it if they’re  _ observed _ while they do these things.”

“Why were you trying to observe your sisters in their rooms?” Geralt asked, sitting down on the bed.

“I was small, nosy and bored. They were trying to be private so I wanted to know why. We get along well now but I used to pester them horribly.”

“Can’t imagine how that feels,” Geralt said, deadpan.

“Anyway,” said Jaskier, casting himself down beside Geralt in a graceful attitude, then jauntily sticking his leg straight up in the air, “you don’t have to share a room now, except with me. And it is private. And I would place a pretty hefty bet that Ciri can’t hear or be bothered by anything we do in here. And all that  _ yearning _ you’ve been doing, gazing at me with suppressed lust smouldering in your golden eyes, can come to a happy ending.”

“You have been pretty intolerable on the way here,” Geralt said. “Flaunting yourself at me.”

“Flaunting myself? You just got obsessed with my wrists and my neck for some reason. I was keeping myself very covered up to make things easier for you. Not even flashing my pelt!” He patted his chest. 

“I had to make do with what I could see,” Geralt said, getting up and returning to the door to fasten the bolt. He made a point of looking back at Jaskier as the metal rod slid into the box, which made him grin.

“Arguably it did our relationship good to back off a bit and concentrate on other ways to be intimate, but you did seem to be under strain. I remember you stroking the inside of my wrist with your thumb looking like you were going to cream yourself. What are you going to do if I actually take my shirt off now? Explode?”

“Try it and see,” said Geralt, walking back slowly. 

“You know what I’d really enjoy?” Jaskier asked, sitting up and shifting to the side of the bed. “A gentle welcome blowjob. I think that would be one of the most hospitable things you could do.”

Geralt came to stand in front of him, looking down at him, considering him. Jaskier popped his top collar button, exposed about an inch more neck, and winked at him. Geralt’s hands hit his shoulders and pushed him flat onto the bed just before he climbed on and kissed him voraciously, his tongue delving into Jaskier’s mouth. Jaskier moaned blissfully and arched his back as Geralt ripped down the front of his jacket, scattering buttons, then tore open his shirt.

“Oh wow,” Jaskier said breathlessly. He panted, and his chest rose and fell, covered in soft brown curls that gathered into a line down the middle of his belly and thickened as they disappeared under his waistband. Geralt wrenched that open too and dragged his pants down from his hips. “Is this my  _ gentle _ welcome blow — mmm.” He was cut off by another deep kiss that turned to a heavy-breathing, open-mouthed rubbing of tongues. “You’re a big bad wolf tonight, are you?”

“Not… necessarily,” Geralt said, with difficulty. “I couldn’t resist.”

“Look how hard you’ve got me, just like that.” His cock was jutting up, pink-tipped, from its warm nest of brown hair. “I must be in a mood to get ravished after all.”

“I always have this problem,” said Geralt. “I get aggressive but I still want you to top me. I know the messages are mixed.” He’d managed to compose himself a bit after the emotional, if not physical release of ripping off Jaskier’s clothes. He would have a lot of buttons to crawl around finding and sew on in the morning, but that was a price he was happy to pay. He slid himself backwards until his feet were on the floor by the bed again, then knelt. “I’ll try to be gentle now. And hospitable.” He steadied the base of Jaskier’s cock with one hand and softly licked it up towards the tip. Jaskier shivered with pleasure. 

“I don’t deny myself when I’m not with you, so I can’t say something like it’s been forever since I felt that, but I can say there’s always something extra special and exciting knowing it’s  _ your _ mouth I can feel.”

“Mmmm,” Geralt said, repeating the lick a little to one side of the first one. 

“Have you blessed anyone with that lovely mouth since our last time?”

“No one with a cock. So I’ve missed it.” A slow dragging lick up the other side. 

“My love, I think you’ll find there are any number of people with very nice cocks who would line up to have them sucked by you. You didn’t have to wait.”

“I don’t feel comfortable unless it’s you.” Playing with Jaskier’s foreskin, working it back and forth and admiring the glimpses of glistening head before pulling it back to fully expose it. 

“But it’s okay to be fucked anonymously in a bathhouse?”

“I can’t explain why it’s different, but it is.” He ran his tongue around the edge of Jaskier’s glans, huffing out hot breath. “Still feels submissive, and I only like submitting to you.” Once he’d settled that with himself it all got so much easier; the sense of shame shifted and sweetened somehow, since obviously it was different to want to submit out of love and Jaskier was a very special case. 

“And still, taking a cock in your arse, or two or three in a row that time you were drunk, doesn’t feel that submissive?”

“I said I can’t explain.” He sucked the tip, gazing steadily up at Jaskier. 

“Must be a face thing,” Jaskier murmured. “How would you feel in a glory hole, where they don’t see you?”

“Are you  _ trying  _ to get me to suck other men’s dicks?”

“I just want to free you up to do anything you might enjoy. This is me being a generous and encouraging partner.”

“But I’m expecting to be with only you for quite a while now. Aren’t you with me?”

“Admittedly the selection up here is limited, but —“

“What selection? You’re not thinking of sleeping with my brothers, are you?” He had better not be.

“So they’re out of bounds? Noted.”

“Of course they’re out of bounds. You wouldn’t want me to sleep with your sisters, would you?”

“I suppose not,” said Jaskier, scrunching his nose thoughtfully, “but I’ve never really thought of you having anything to do with them.” He considered a moment longer. “Yes, you’re right, I would not like you to sleep with my sisters. Or any individual sister, but it would obviously be more troublesome if you went for the full set like some sort of collector.”

“Were you planning on the set?” Geralt asked, a little appalled. 

“Calm down, it was never a  _ plan _ , it was barely an impulse. I haven’t just talked my way out of a blowjob, have I? That would be tragic.”

“Explain ‘impulse.’ How much of an impulse?”

“Good grief. I literally just looked at them and thought ‘Not bad.’ I was far more focused on whether they’d like me or think I was a useless pansy and not good enough for you. The thought didn’t resurface until you brought up being exclusive. You’ve made me think about it just now more than I would have on my own, so don’t worry. You can always tell me if there’s someone you want me to leave alone and I will.”

“I just never considered you would need to be  _ told _ that about my family.”

“Had I ever actually formed an intention, I would have asked you if it was all right, so it comes to the same thing — you’d have told me no and I’d have accepted it. But I haven’t. I don’t even know which one I’d pick to start with. And to be fair, you’re not  _ brothers  _ brothers, aren’t you more like monk brothers?”

“We’re not monks,” Geralt said, deciding to go back to sucking unless he heard something more outrageous. 

“Lucky for me,” Jaskier sighed, stroking his hair. Geralt shot him a look with his mouth full. “Because of you, dummy, can you imagine my despair if you were celibate?”

“That wouldn’t have stopped you trying.” He continued, though, because this seemed like a safer thing for Jaskier to chatter on about until he couldn’t talk any more; his voice was already getting light and breathless. 

“Of course not, but it would have greatly increased the challenge. In actual fact religious personnel aren’t necessarily that hard to seduce, like — that’s good — half of them are there to avoid marriage and at least another quarter have been put there by their families, especially nuns, poor things, but knowing — mmm — knowing you, you’d be serious about your vocation and your vows and would have suffered torments of temptation and self-flagellation and quite possibly decided I was an incubus and you had to slay me. Oh, yes... I’m getting a really good idea for a dirty little ballad about a handsome monk and a seductive demon.”

“Hmmm?” He was impressed by how long Jaskier was staying coherent, although his breathing was fast and ragged, and he was enjoying having his hair stroked. 

“I think at the end, on the very point of losing his spiritual battle, he gets rescued by a brave witcher and howls ‘Could you not have waited ten minutes?’”

Geralt lifted his mouth, but kept stroking with his hand, and suggested, “And the witcher says, ‘If that’s so, perhaps I can be of some assistance,’ and sheathes his sword.”

Jaskier struggled a bit and sat up. “Okay,” he said, panting, “first, I love that and I’m stealing it. Second, who gave you permission to be creative and funny down there?”

“I don’t need permission. You can have  _ my  _ permission to use that idea, but don’t make it sound like the witcher was me.”

“Aw, why not?” Jaskier asked, smiling. “Makes you look both witty and quite studly.”

“Don’t give people I rescue false expectations. Either they’ll be worried I’ll want to fuck them, or disappointed when I don’t.” He sucked it back in, as deep as it could comfortably go, and moaned unthinkingly. 

“I see your point.” Jaskier flopped back on the bed. “I used to have so many fantasies about that — getting rescued and then getting laid.”

“Mmm?” Geralt moved his tongue slowly.

“Because of course you’d see me in peril and realise you loved me. When in fact you needed to be the one in peril. That’s —  _ oh —  _ that’s dramatic irony.” He rolled his hips upward and shifted one hand to rub his chest. “Starting to feel at home. You’re so beautiful.”

“Hmm.” Jaskier’s petting had pulled loops of his hair out of the tie and they were getting in his way; he kept sucking but freed both hands for a few moments to pull out the tie, gather all his hair back and bundle it up, probably messily but effectively. Back to stroking up and down the shaft, rubbing the soft pale skin of Jaskier’s inner thighs, feeling his mouth grow hotter and wetter. His lips felt swollen and the smell of Jaskier’s skin was getting stronger as a light dew of sweat grew. The moans kept growing in his throat, and his own cock was bound up in his pants and aching to be touched.

“Ooh,  _ fuck,” _ Jaskier breathed. “Do you want to try something new? Do you think you can take it further? Don’t worry if you can’t, because I can’t, but it could be fun to try.”

“Mmhmm.” He quite liked the thought of a challenge, particularly if he could do something Jaskier couldn’t. 

“That’s my boy. Don’t growl, it’s just an endearment. Come on, get up on the bed.” He sat up and gave Geralt his hand, pulling him up and scooting himself to the middle of the mattress. “Okay, because of the slight curve it’s easier to handle from upside down. Lift up and turn around, that’s right. And what a great view I get. All the arse I could ever want.” He reached up and rubbed Geralt’s buttocks. “I’ll play with it while you work, okay?”

“Not really work,” Geralt said. He lowered his head between Jaskier’s legs, filled his mouth again and swirled his tongue against the head before sucking deeply. 

“Oh gods,” said Jaskier faintly. “Go slowly, breathe deeply through your nose, back off if you feel sick at all. K-keep swallowing, it helps get it down and it feels a-ama-azing…” Geralt could hear him breathing hard and feel his hands gripping his buttocks tight; he was wondering when this was supposed to get so tricky. The thickness in his throat felt strange to say the least but not that much stranger than putting a cock in his mouth had felt in the first place. 

“Okay,” said Jaskier with a shaky chuckle, “I don’t know if this is a witcher thing or a Geralt thing, but I don’t think you have any gag reflex to speak of. Are you — holy shit your nose is on my balls. Are you  _ okay, _ my lovely?”

“Mm-hmm.” He hadn’t expected it to go so deep so smoothly, and he was a little shocked at himself, but his heart was pounding and his head felt light and buzzy with excitement.

“Can you move your head up and down?”

“Mmm.”

“Holy shit,” Jaskier repeated reverently. “You’re perfect. Are you going to be fine if I come straight down your throat?”

“Mmm.”

“Well,  _ good. _ ” 

Geralt wouldn’t have minded if Jaskier had wanted to simply lie back and accept everything, but he moaned joyfully when he felt a hand on his cock, rubbing through his pants. Jaskier’s hips twitched sharply, and he deepened the moan to please him, feeling his hand shake and hearing him whimper. In between increasingly desperate sounds of pleasure he was still, quite kindly, trying to coach Geralt through what he was doing, but he was hardly listening.

He was feeling a strong burn of shame about doing this, letting himself be used like this, and it made everything so much fiercer and stronger he was trembling. Jaskier’s hips were straining and his cock was twitching and before too long he was crying out, ending with a gasp and a deep exhalation that left his body limp. Geralt eased his head up and took a deep breath. His throat was burning, not painfully, just a feeling of  _ heat _ and almost exhaustion. His chin was wet and he wiped it on his arm. 

“Oh fuck,” Jaskier whispered. “Oh, heavenly  _ fuck. _ So that — that was a good fit, right?”

“Mmhmm.” He rolled off onto his back and lay breathing deeply, wondering if his mouth and throat would feel this sensitive for long. If Jaskier kissed him now he might almost come. “Cuh — can you kiss me?”

“Coming,” Jaskier said, and scrambled over to straddle him and kiss him deeply, stroking his cheeks. It wasn’t quite orgasmic but it was overwhelmingly intense and sweet. “Good?” he breathed against Geralt’s lips. 

“Good. It feels different. My mouth.” 

“It is different. Right? Like when you first get fucked and you think, ‘Oh my, this part of my body is now a Sex Part. I’m not supposed to be using it for this, but I do and it feels great.’ Congratulations. I  _ wish _ I could do what you’ve just done, but I always choke.” Another soft wet kiss. 

“It’s not that hard.” 

“For you. I hope you feel proud of yourself. I’m so proud of you. I really am. Seeing you get over any kind of inhibition and just love what you’re doing is so… it’s hot but it’s also very lovely and heartwarming and I’m happy for you and glad I get to be part of it. You don’t need to be ashamed of what you want.”

“I still feel ashamed of it but I think the shame is part of how I enjoy it.”

“Whatever works for you, my love. Do you want me to talk to you about that? While you’re doing it, I mean. Tell you you’re a pervert or anything?”

“No, I like it when you’re encouraging. I can do the other part myself.”

“Like good and evil spirits on your shoulders. I’m the sexy little evil spirit saying ‘Do it, do it, it feels nice.’ What does the virtuous boring spirit say?”

“I’m not that comfortable repeating it.”

“That only makes it more interesting.”

Geralt cleared his tender throat slightly and said, “Something like, ‘what’s wrong with you, you’re letting him use your throat like a cunt.’”

“That is a very foul-mouthed virtuous spirit,” said Jaskier, raising his eyebrows. “Actually, I’m not sure I’ve ever heard you use that word. I try to just use it if I know the lady in question likes it, but there’s no lady in this question.”

“That’s the point,” Geralt said, exasperated. “That’s why I’m ashamed.”

“I mean, you don’t really believe that still, do you? I remember you having some qualms when we first got together but you seemed to get over them. And given that, I wondered if your family here would be uptight and horrible about me but they seem perfectly fine.”

“Do you know,” Geralt said, feeling he was very clumsily trying to push the idea out, “how sometimes you accept something is harmless and you don’t judge anyone else for it but there’s still a small inner voice that says ‘not you though, it’s still bad when  _ you _ do it?’”

“I do! Except for me it’s about creative dry spells. I  _ know  _ they happen to everyone and it doesn’t mean I’ll never write anything good again and sometimes people come back and do their best work yet, but I still  _ feel _ like this is it, I’m washed up, bury me now, and I go on mentally kicking myself till inspiration returns. What a shame I can’t find a way to get off on that.”

“Jaskier?”

“Yes, my lovely?”

“Please fuck me.”

Jaskier’s eyes looked briefly unfocused, his cheeks reddened, and he said, “Okay, I was feeling pretty spent but the combination of you asking so nicely and how husky your voice is right now has got me just about ready to do that.”

“Good.”

“Race you to get undressed,”Jaskier said, sitting up and pulling his jacket off. 

“That’s not fair, I gave you a head start — and you’re  _ sitting  _ on me.” He managed to buck him off and pull his own shirt off, then got stuck with his pants and boots. Jaskier partly redeemed himself by helping him off with them, pushed him back to lie on the pillows while he wriggled out of his own clothes, then joined him there, eagerly kissing him. 

“I get to be inside you again. Tell me you’ve needed it as much as I have.”

“I’ve needed it every day. It’s been hell being with you and not having you.”

“And now you can have it. My duty to keep you well fucked at all times.”

“Duty?”

“Pleasure too — but I definitely feel like I’m taking care of you.” Jaskier abruptly shivered. “It’s bloody cold in here. You get under the covers and I’ll grab the oil.”

While Jaskier was digging in his bag, Geralt got into bed and it occurred to him that he’d slept in this bed on and off for years but never had sex in it. Jaskier would probably say that was monastic of him, or connect it to his idea of a Sex Part, making it into a Sex Place, as opposed to a Sleep Place and Masturbation Place, in which sense it was already well broken in. Jaskier came scrambling into bed, bottle in hand, and hugged him tightly to get warm. Geralt kissed him and wrapped his legs around his hips. 

“You might like to know, I’ve had a few dreams about you in this bed.”

“All wet, I hope.”

“Some. Others I just woke up hard.”

“Like now?” Jaskier’s cock nudging and brushing against his, making it throb harder. 

“Like now.”

“Let me…” A deep kiss, and Jaskier’s tongue stroking between his lips, his body shifting and his fingers stroking between his buttocks, warm and slippery, and a little hot prod of pleasure as one entered his anus. Jaskier’s breath was soft against his face and he nipped at his lower lip when he moaned. “Well, now this is going to be the bed where you get fucked. I get to make your dreams come true. Emphasis on  _ come.” _

“Stop trying to be smart and do it.” His head rocked back and he moaned deeper as Jaskier’s fingers drove slowly in.

“There’s my little flower.”

_ “Oh… _ ”

“I love that look on your face. You look like you want to purr. Shall we rub that sweet spot?”

_ “Yes. _ ”

“Another thing I’ve still, I can’t believe it, never done, just milked you here till you came from the inside out.”

“Fff… am I a flower, a cat or a cow?”

“I’m allowed to mix metaphors when I finger you this well.”

“I allow a lot for that.”

“Because you love how I fuck you?”

“I  _ love _ how you fuck me.”

“I love how you say that.”

“Fuck me.”

“Say please.”

“Please fuck me.” It felt as if they were rolling or falling inevitably together to their destination, and he was lightheaded with love and desire and the huge contentment of being with Jaskier and thinking of nothing else. The heat and the weight of Jaskier’s body, the smell and the texture of his skin and his hair, his long clever fingers working inside him, the bed and the blankets supporting and surrounding them made this cosy little space where only they existed, and that was beautiful and loving, and at the same time he had three fingers stretching his anus and soon it would be cock and it would feel so  _ good  _ in a mindless, animal way _. _

“Here it comes,” Jaskier whispered, and slipped his fingers out and penetrated him so deeply he groaned aloud. “Oh, that’s  _ it. _ Fuck, Geralt, you’re so  _ hot _ inside.” He lowered himself on Geralt’s body, wrapping his arms around him, kissing him deeply as Geralt hugged him tight with arms and legs together and they ground against each other. After a few sweet moments he lifted himself a bit and began to move in long, smooth, steady strokes. “Good?”

“Good, but tilt it up a bit. Like that.”

“That was a nice little grunt.”

“That’s  _ it.” _ The  _ full _ feeling was growing, and the low rolling surges of pleasure, and the sharper shocks that jumped up his spine as the pressure of Jaskier’s cock bore directly against his prostate. He got his hand in between them to rub himself, wanting more and more.

“You keep squeezing me tighter.” Jaskier was breathing fast, the pink of his lips and cheeks deepening, as he bucked his hips. “Can you — your other hand, can you stick your finger in me? Yes!” He started thrusting faster, his bottom twitching around Geralt’s finger, lunging in to kiss him quickly. “Good?”

“Yes!” It was all he could do to keep rubbing and to pump his finger deeper into Jaskier’s tight warmth; Jaskier bit his lower lip and his face bloomed with delight, thrusting into him faster still. 

“Fucking love you,” he panted. “Want you to come so hard…”

“It’s close,” Geralt breathed, “it’s so close…”

“Come on… come for me… you’ve been needing this, right?”

“Yes…”

“Wh-whole time we’ve been travelling up here… you’ve been wanting this… haven’t come since I wanked you off in the bathroom, right?”

Geralt couldn’t answer, could hardly breathe while cresting like this, and only let out a deep cry as the first sharp pulse went through him, then gasped through the following spasms.

“Oh, there you go! That’s what you needed! My turn!” Jaskier bore down on him, rutting and puffing, bouncing him as he lay in a daze of pleasure and release, until he climaxed with a screwing motion of his hips and a long shuddery moan. He lay on top of him panting and giving little hums of contentment. Geralt wrapped his arms around him again and stroked his back. “You know,” Jaskier said after a while, “how I like to give you compliments?”

“Mmhmm.”

“And often I end up complimenting the same things… like your strong arms or your massive yet firm bum or your lovely golden eyes or your delicious lips…”

“Mmhmm.”

“So to keep from being too predictable I try to ring the changes and tell you you’ve got a really nice indentation along the line of your spine, or supple wrists, or great tits…”

“Could have done without the tits comment, but yes.”

“I would just like to say that your pelvic floor muscles in particular are second to none. Seriously, wow.”

Geralt chuckled quietly. “You’ve been training them.”

“I can’t take credit, they were like that from the first time I fucked you. I thought you were just tight because you were nervous but experience has shown they’re  _ strong. _ They deserve praise.”

“Well, I like yours too.”

“I love you, Geralt.”

“And I love you.” He thought a little, pulling the covers up over Jaskier’s shoulders, then holding him again, stroking with just the side of his thumb. “Want a compliment?”

“Only always.”

‘This might be a strange one.”

“That makes it more interesting.”

“There’s an expression you get on your face when you sing… one of your soulful, overwrought, but sincere love songs, those cry-from-the-heart verses… which is very, very close to your expression when you’re on the verge of an orgasm, and I don’t know if you do it consciously, but it makes it a little difficult for me to watch you sing those songs, because it’s such a vivid kind of… sense memory.”

“You’re kidding,” Jaskier said, raising his head to look at him.

“No. I mean, your face is generally a lot redder and sweatier when you’re about to come than when you’re only singing, but you sort of… scrunch up your eyes and pull your eyebrows together, they go up in the middle… well, since you close your eyes when you do it you can’t have ever seen it in a mirror.”

“Now I’m going to wonder if I’m doing it when I sing.”

“Hope I haven’t made you self-conscious about it. You have such an expressive face. Then when you do come, your eyes open wide and you really look like you can see stars. You have perhaps the prettiest eyes I’ve seen on a human being.”

“Firstly, I don’t know what I did to deserve two compliments tonight, but I hope I keep doing it. Secondly,  _ on a human being?” _

“Well, horses have pretty eyes.” He closed his own eyes, because inadvertently he’d thought of Yennefer’s eyes, hooded and long-lashed and deep purple, and the warm emotional bath of happiness and comfort he lay in was chilled.

“Horses have weird bean pupils like sheep and goats!” Jaskier protested, but he laid his head on Geralt’s shoulder again. After a moment, he said, “You just thought of Yennefer, didn’t you? Call me a mind-reader if you will, but I’m fairly sure she’s the only person you know with eyes anywhere near as pretty as mine.”

“Please don’t talk about her.”

“I know you’re worried, but —”

“I’m not worried any more. I have to try and accept that she’s gone.”

“Well, I’m not accepting it. Tough bitches like Yennefer don’t just die.” Jaskier slid down his body a bit, folded his arms on Geralt’s chest and rested his chin on them, looking up at him.

“Tough bitches?” Geralt repeated.

“She is a tough, mean, stubborn bitch and that’s at least half of why you like her, it’s probably 80 percent of why she’s succeeded as a mage even while apparently pissing off all the other mages, and it’s why I wouldn’t believe she was dead without seeing not just a body but an actual ghost.”

Geralt almost laughed. “You have a lot of faith in her for someone who doesn’t like her.”

“Well, that’s how you know I’m unbiased by wishful thinking. My only reason to care about Yennefer is that you care and I love you. I could just say ‘I’m so sorry’ and try to comfort you, but it wouldn’t be honest, now would it? And I wouldn’t try to give you false hope. That is my real and unvarnished opinion. Tough bitch, not dead. Will presumably turn up again like one of those dreadful cats that goes missing for days on end and then saunters in with half an ear missing and demands to know what’s for dinner.” Jaskier looked steadily back at him. For some reason Geralt remembered him looking at him with his chin on his arms, on the rim of a bath years ago, telling him, “And yet, here we are.” He’d already been falling then, just fighting it tooth and nail.

“I’m glad I have you,” Geralt said quietly.

“Of course you are, you know a good thing when you see it.... eventually.”

“If she does come back can I tell her you said all that?”

“That she’s a tough bitch and like a dreadful cat? Yes, go ahead.” Jaskier yawned. “I really need a piss but I’m so warm here and I know when I get out of bed I’m going to freeze all over. There’s a loo just down the hall, isn’t there?”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t have anything sensible like a big warm woolly dressing gown in the closet, do you?”

“No, but you could wrap the top blanket round you and scurry.”

“Whereupon I will probably bump into your tallest and spookiest brother in the passage. I’ll try to learn their names tomorrow.” Jaskier kissed him on the nose, got up with a shudder and a shiver and whisked the top blanket around himself like a cloak, hissed, “You also need slippers, the floor is freezing,” unbolted the door and slipped out.

Geralt snuggled down in the bed, although he didn’t think he’d sleep until Jaskier got back. Jaskier had got him spoiled for warm beds. He certainly  _ could _ still sleep on the ground in the cold, because physical discomfort didn’t  _ matter, _ but the addition of Jaskier to spoon and the nape of his neck to smell would make even the ground in the cold more cosy and appealing. He punched a pillow into a better shape to wedge between his neck and shoulder.

A disembodied voice said, “I didn’t know he thought I was spooky.”

After a long moment during which his heart restarted, Geralt asked aloud, “The fuck?”

“What I forgot to tell you, because it didn’t matter while you weren’t here, is that in the spring some birds got in here and pecked out the mortar at the top of the wall between your room and mine and built a nest in it. So there’s still a hole. So it’s easy to hear anything going on in your room. I’d forgotten about it until I heard your voices.”

“And you just  _ listened?”  _ His face felt like fire and his gut felt like ice water.

“Well, I decided to meditate and block it out after the mention of a blowjob. I was partially successful but you two are loud, so I couldn’t avoid… being aware of voice sounds, although I didn’t pick up any of the words.”

“Ye gods…” There was some relief in the thought that he hadn’t actually heard all the fuck-me talk but this was still mortifying. 

“Once the ruckus calmed down a bit I thought it wouldn’t do any harm to listen.”

“Then you’re a nosy bastard.” Mortification was shading into anger and thoughts of revenge.  _ Please, please, please, may he not have started listening until after the bit about my pelvic floor muscles. I love knowing I’m tight as a bolt and I squeeze his cock exactly right but no one else in the world needs to know that. _

“You two have a strange line in pillow talk, but you sound like you love each other very much. Who’s Yennefer?”

“Someone else I love.”

“A tough bitch, apparently.”

“I like strong women.”

“Strong women and sparkly men.”

“Jaskier’s not sparkly.” He was a bit sparkly, admittedly. Especially when he had a new suit, but his brothers had only seen him looking a bit scruffy and the worse for wear after dodging in and out of a war and a lot of travel. 

“He’s pretty sparkly. Are you keeping him if your Yennefer turns up missing half an ear?”

“What, do you want him if I don’t?”

“No, I just rather like him and think you should hang onto him.”

“I’m keeping him, so don’t get ideas.”

“No ideas over here. My head is empty.” A pause. “So you turn up today with your Child Surprise, and your lover who apparently you’ve been in love with, what, twenty years, and —”

“I haven’t been in love with him for twenty years, that’s just about how long we’ve known each other. And we don’t call each other ‘lover.’ He’s just… mine.”

“— and there’s also Yennefer the tough bitch and mage… and this is the first time I’ve heard about any of these people.”

“I just… like some things to be private. And I’m not proud of the Child Surprise part. That is, I’m proud of Ciri, she’s a wonderful girl, but the way I got her was irresponsible and stupid. So was what I did to get together with Yennefer. Actually, the way I got together with Jaskier was pretty stupid too, but at least that was a third party’s stupidity.”

“I’m just saying that if you told us things occasionally, there wouldn’t be so much temptation to be a nosy bastard.”

“You still shouldn’t have listened to us. And tomorrow you’re blocking up that hole.”

“Yes, I am, because I need my sleep. Can you move your bed at least a foot out from the wall so it doesn’t bang on it so hard?”

“Oh, piss off.”

“Speaking of which, he’s taking a long time for a piss.”

“He’s… fastidious. He’ll be cleaning himself up, even if he has to do it with cold water.”

“I still don’t understand where you found him.”

“I didn’t have to, he found me. Stop talking, I want to spare him the embarrassment of knowing we were overheard.”

“He strikes me as the sort to laugh and ask if I was impressed.” 

That was entirely too perceptive and Geralt wanted to discourage that sort of thing. “He was only that vocal because he thought we were in private,” he lied firmly. “He should be back any minute, so good night.”

“Good night.”

Geralt lay in the dark with his ears burning. That was humiliating. At least there was no possibility Ciri had heard it at all, as her bedroom was several doors away. He had wanted them to be next door to each other; thank goodness she had picked the room with the small window seat and said she loved this one and could she please have it? How the hell were you supposed to manage having anything like a decent sex life and living as part of a family? There was no way on earth Jaskier could fuck without talking — it was, after all, part of what made sex with him so extremely good, once Geralt had got used to it — so what was he supposed to do, keep his hand over his mouth? Then he couldn’t kiss him. Kiss him the entire time so he couldn’t get a word out? More appealing but it would mean giving up the moments of drawing back to look at him and see the reactions crossing his sweet face — and although Jaskier demanded lots of kissing he probably didn’t want that much of it. Gag him? Definitely not.

And it wasn’t all Jaskier’s fault anyway, because he’d got him, Geralt, conditioned to be all chatty in bed — no, wait,  _ that _ was absolutely Jaskier’s fault — but in any case, he had been doing at least half the talking as well as half the moaning and grunting. Maybe more of the moaning and grunting. 

Now that he thought about it, they had probably really bothered a lot of people in the neighbouring rooms of inns over the last couple of years. Imagine trying to get to sleep when he and Jaskier were fucking vigorously a few feet away. Only one person had ever come and pounded on the door to complain, a brave and angry man; Geralt had gone to answer the door naked except for a hastily wrapped towel, extremely annoyed, and the poor fellow looked like he wanted to pull his head into his body like a tortoise, according to Jaskier who was watching from the bed, and folded up laughing as soon as Geralt shut the door. 

“You went  _ WHAT? _ with a snarl and I think his life flashed before his eyes,” he’d said. “That towel’s really not hiding anything. Rock hard dick out to here,” he added, gesturing about a foot out from his lap before laughing helplessly again. That time had been funny rather than horribly humiliating, and they had in fairness tried to be quieter for the rest of the night.

Why was Jaskier taking so long? Had he got lost? Kaer Morhen could be confusing in the dark, but there was usually a lamp left burning in the passageway. Had he met someone and got talking? Fallen down the stairs in the dark and was now lying at the bottom unable to move? He was just beginning to get out of bed, find his trousers and go searching when he heard quick footsteps padding towards the door, and sank back with definite relief as Jaskier came in, clutching the blanket around him.

“What took you so long?” he asked. “I started to wonder if you’d fallen down the hole into the long-drop.”

“Fun fact, I did once have to hide from a husband who came home unexpectedly early in a garderobe. It was not  _ quite _ as bad as you’d think. Just nearly. Anyway, I had to find my way down to the kitchen to heat up some water for a spot wash, the water in the basin in the lavatory had  _ ice _ in it and I wasn’t about to apply that to my fun bits. Here, for you,” he said, passing over a damp cloth, still faintly warm, before throwing the blanket back over the bed and diving under the covers. “Brr!”

“Thanks,” said Geralt, wiping his hands. 

“Do your belly as well. In fact I think splashes may have reached your chest. It was an impressive eruption.”

“It’s come off on the sheets by now.”

“Fair enough.” Jaskier yawned and snuggled up to him, and he laid the cloth aside and gathered him into his arms. “Are you going to think I’m a useless pansy if I want a washbasin in here? Maybe a brazier so we can heat up a bit of water?”

“No. We can see about that in the morning. I know you don’t really like roughing it.”

“This is what I meant about this being exactly where you’d be from… it’s like roughing it  _ indoors. _ ”

“Less of that,” Geralt said drowsily, “this is a perfectly good bed.”

“It’s good because it’s got you in it. With you, practically any bed becomes cosy and comfortable to me.”

“I was thinking the same thing about you.”

“Good night, my beloved warming pan, my dearest hot brick.”

“Good night.”


	7. Wine and Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By the time-honoured method of "vaguely skip anything that would be hard to write," I've decided to continue this story with the incorporation of Yennefer, after extricating herself from her season 2 troubles by means I will not bother to try to explain, but anyway, reconciling with Geralt. Jaskier is cautiously willing to share but absolutely not to be edged out. Content warning: people getting drunk, dad jokes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously, the longer I go on with this, the more it becomes an AU entirely detached from canon, and the more it presumably becomes clear that I don't know anything about the world of this story than I could pick up from watching the Netflix show once through, and because it is clearly a flipping huge canon and I don't have that kind of energy when I just want to write something for comfort and pleasure, I am making things up to fill gaps that feel plausible for _my_ version of things rather than try to do research. So whenever you run up against something like that, please bear with me. I think the story is enjoyable on its own merits.  
> There is at least one more chapter to come after this.

“Yennefer.”

“Jaskier.”

He pulled her chair out for her because he was a gentleman, rather than because she was a lady. She accepted that as her due and sat down elegantly. He sat down facing her. “Glass of wine? I’m afraid I couldn’t get any fresh apple juice at this time of year.”

“Wine will do nicely.”

He poured two glasses and raised his. “Your health.”

She smiled at him and drank, then asked, “Why exactly are we here? I don’t  _ think _ you’re trying to court me.”

“If I were I’d have picked a more romantic venue, but this is comfortable and quiet, so we can have a civilised conversation in private.”

It was a small sitting-room located off the barroom of a rather nice inn. There was a kind of green semi-darkness in here because the windows were almost overgrown with climbing roses. The windows standing open, the fragrance of the sun-warmed flowers drifted in. They were soft pink roses whose perfume suggested innocence and sunshine rather than romance or seduction, but it made the room pleasant, and the dimness made it seem cool compared with the summer morning outside. Jaskier had drawn up the small table and two chairs to a spot between the two windows. You couldn’t say he hadn’t made an effort. 

He’d made an effort with his dress and grooming too. Yennefer had never really seen him looking his best, and he had a recently acquired lavender suit which he thought very fetching. He had a nearly new haircut, a little pearl in one ear and was lightly but not excessively perfumed.

“And what are you and I going to converse about so civilly?” Yennefer asked. “Is this the part where you nobly relinquish Geralt, recognising mine as the prior claim?”

“Certainly not. I saw him first. This is the part where we discuss how we can share him amicably.”

“Hmmm,” said Yennefer, and tilted her head quizzically. “Is that a grey hair?”

“Must be one of Geralt’s.” He sat back in his chair, determined to be calm and confident. “Congratulations on rekindling your relationship with him.”

“It’s not really rekindling,” said Yennefer, tucking her hair back behind one ear, which didn’t fully reveal but also didn’t conceal a love-bite on her neck which a woman of her poise and abilities certainly wouldn’t have left visible if not to make a point. Clearly their reunion the other day had been enthusiastic. “What we had before was based on manipulation and I still haven’t entirely forgiven him. I’ve decided to give him a chance to show me what he can do for me fair and square, beginning again. A relationship based on honesty; if nothing else the novelty value is terrific.”

“I can recommend it,” Jaskier said. 

“I thought your relationship was based on you following him around with your tongue hanging out,” she said sweetly. 

“You must see me as quite a threat to be so bitchy,” said Jaskier thoughtfully. “It’s true I picked him up after you dropped him and we’ve done very nicely together since then, but it’s also true that he never stopped loving you and wishing he could make up for what he’d done. And I knew that, and although I found it a bit painful, I accepted it. We’ve talked about it. That’s what I mean about honesty. It doesn’t mean every conversation is easy, but we do manage to talk about everything important. That’s why I hope you and I can also talk honestly and come to an arrangement we can both live with.”

Yennefer looked at him and sipped her drink. Clearly, she wasn’t going to concede anything. 

“I told him I was worried you’d replace me if you ever came back, and he said you couldn’t replace me any more than the moon could replace the sun. Which was unexpectedly poetic coming from him, but I saw his point. The sun can’t replace the moon either. The world needs them both.”

“So you have him during the day and I have him at night?” she asked with a little smile. 

“Goodness, no. I’m not giving up on sleeping with him.”

“Are you fishing for all three of us to share a bed?” she suggested. 

“Nnn-no?” He hadn’t expected that. If she and he had actually been friends he would already have proposed it and they could have been having a great old time making a Geralt sandwich, or sandwitcher, if you would. “Because not to put too fine a point on it, I don’t  _ like  _ you, and you don’t appear to like me.”

“Is that necessary?” asked Yennefer, looking at him steadily.

“Well, it is for me.” He crossed his legs and fidgeted with his earring. 

“I thought you still slept around.”

“Of course, but just with people I really like. I am actually selective. Why else would I want to? If I only wanted to get off I could take care of myself quite efficiently. When I’m with another person it’s because I see something lovely about them and I want to enjoy that and make them feel how lovely they are too. It’s what I’m good at. Other than music, singing, storytelling and poetry, obviously.”

“And fashion,” said Yennefer, looking him up and down as if he amused her. For her part she was wearing a shot silk dress that looked alternately teal and purple depending on the angle. She looked effortlessly glamorous, as if she’d just walked casually through the magic forest where frocks grew on trees and the dress had been blown by a zephyr and landed on her perfectly. Somehow no matter what her circumstances, even when she’d recently been through quite a good facsimile of hell, she managed to acquire and maintain a wardrobe. Still, glamour was the word, it was all a finely crafted magical image, he was sure. “What is this, exactly?” she asked. “You showcasing your femininity, to let me know you can compete?”

“Not especially, I just look great in lavender and lace. I might have worn my midnight blue suit, but Geralt hasn’t finished mending it. We’ve got a rule, if he tears the buttons off, he sews them back on.”

Yennefer compressed her lips, but her eyes were smiling. “Well played,” she said. 

“Look, what do you say we try looking for some common ground? Real basics. For example, Geralt of Rivia has a fantastic arse. Most men’s bums, you have to compromise on either quality or quantity, but he excels in both categories. Agree or disagree?”

“Agree,” said Yennefer.

“Now you do one.”

“Does it need to be about Geralt’s body?”

“Anything.”

She thought, then said, “Puff sleeves are rather fun.”

“That was generous of you. Agree.”

“I can be generous. But it doesn’t mean I like to share.” Yennefer took a long, slow sip of her wine, draining the glass, and put it down, sliding it forward slightly. To maintain at least the fiction of a polite conversation, Jaskier refilled it for her. “I mean really, tell me one reason why I should share a man I want with someone else, a man I can give everything he wants.”

Jaskier eyed her as she drank again. “Well, just to be really crude for a moment, you can’t give him dick.” 

Yennefer’s composure was truly impressive. Wine did not come out of her nose, which would have been incredibly satisfying. She did spit some back, but that was all. She licked wine off her lips and put the glass down. “Well, you shouldn’t assume that,” she said. “Magic is quite amazing. But it shouldn’t come down to what our bodies are like, should it?”

“If it did, I would be the obvious choice, because mine is real. Everyone knows mages’ beauty is fake. What do you have here, fake hair, fake face, fake tits?”

“Oh no. I freely admit my hair and my face have had a lot of help, but the tits are the originals. As are the eyes.” She stared at him calmly, which made him feel cheap for being so rude and also made him want to be more rude in the hope she would stop being so bloody calm. “You must see me as quite a threat to be so bitchy,” she added. 

“All right, my real answer, one reason why? Because he loves me. Because you are not everything he wants, neither of us is. Because if you say “it’s him or me,” that is the most certain way you could drive him away from you forever. Geralt hates having a choice forced on him.”

“That’s three reasons,” said Yennefer. “And in that case shouldn’t you  _ want  _ me to give him that ultimatum and drive him back into your arms?”

“No, because do you have any idea how hurt he would be? I don’t want to see him miserable. You do understand that I love him too, don’t you? You might not think it, but I’ve made sacrifices to be with him. Camping out in all weathers. Wintering at Kaer Morhen, a place entirely cut off from culture and the arts. Always putting what I want second to what Ciri needs. And that’s another thing. If you want to be the only person Geralt loves and adores, you’re shit out of luck because his daughter will always come first.” 

That was the first thing he’d said that hurt her. She blinked her extraordinary violet eyes and just for a moment he saw an extremely lonely woman. Then the extremely proud woman was back. “I’m not concerned with what you think you’ve sacrificed,” she said. “People like you know nothing about the real nature of sacrifice. People like Geralt and me do. We’ve actually had to suffer to become who we are. What have you done, got chilblains on your toes? You can’t understand him.”

“I can’t understand him because we’re the same, no,” Jaskier said. “He and I are completely different. I can understand him because he  _ wants _ me to understand him so much that he makes the effort to overcome all his reserve and his pride and his stubbornness and his deep dark fear that he’s a monster and no one can  _ know _ him and love him, which is really a huge effort, and he talks to me and tries to explain himself. He talks to you too, doesn’t he? Confides in you? Lies beside you and looks into your eyes and speaks softly so that your heart just aches?”

She looked away and sipped her drink. He took a big swig of his own, if only because he was talking his mouth dry. It was quite a good wine, these just weren’t the circumstances to savour it.

“What do you think of his Child Surprise?” Yennefer asked unexpectedly. 

“Ciri? I love her too. She’s a fine, stroppy young girl. She’s been hurt a lot by life but she’s quite resilient. She’s bright and funny and brave. Geralt’s terribly proud of her. I’m a questionable influence on her but we have fun. She and I tend to join forces against him when he gets too serious and then he strikes back with the most dreadful jokes. At first I expected to be horribly jealous of his affection for her, I was all prepared to be very firm with myself about it, but I actually find it really sweet and all the more lovable to see how much he loves her. It’s the first time I’ve ever found someone being a good dad attractive, and it’s  _ so _ attractive.”

“So,” said Yennefer, narrowing her eyes a little, “I’m not just trying to take your man away from you, am I? You’re bringing up a child together. I’m trying to break up your little family. The homewrecker.”

“ _ I _ didn’t play that card,” said Jaskier. “Remember, I’m the one saying we can share. Which I really think is terrifically nice of me, but at the same time is only practical if I want to stay with him, because if I put my foot down and say no Yennefer, that’s going to make him miserable too.”

“How are we supposed to explain that to a young girl? It’s hardly normal.”

“I think… just tell her the truth, at least, the cleanest version of the truth. He loves us both. Some people are like that. She was perfectly all right hearing that he and I are in love, and that’s not generally considered normal. I don’t know how involved with her you may want to be, but she may take to you as a role model, I suppose. It’d probably do her good to have a woman to talk to as she grows up, it’s terribly macho up at Kaer Morhen and despite having an  _ affinity _ with women I’m really not much like one. Geralt tries his best but obviously there are things we don’t have any first-hand experience of.”

“If you mean menstruation, I haven’t had first-hand experience of it for a very long time, and don’t much like my usefulness being reduced to that,” Yennefer said. 

“That’s none of my business,” said Jaskier, “and of course I don’t mean only that. Life’s different when you’re a girl for more than physical reasons. I can see that much. I don’t want to sound smarmy saying ‘oh dear, you ladies have a raw deal,’ but I’ve got more freedom than you and people take me more seriously than you for absolutely no reason other than my sex.”

“I don’t think you should assume people take you seriously,” said Yennefer, which was actually moderately amusing, maybe because wine helped. He gave a little snort into his glass. 

“Touché, old girl, but it only has to be more seriously than you. They might look at me and think I’m a bit of a popinjay, or not a Real Manly Man, but I bet people look at a woman who clearly cares a great deal about her clothes and her beauty and don’t think they have to take her seriously at all. I also bet you’ve used the fact to your advantage many times.”

“Every woman with brains has,” said Yennefer. “Unless she’s unlucky enough not to have beauty. Men will write long poems and  _ songs _ about the terrible power a woman has over them, and never even think of a plain or ugly or old woman as a  _ woman.  _ I bet you’re as guilty of that as any of them.”

“Uh, well, that’s as may be. I’m more in the camp of ‘every woman is beautiful in her own way.’”

“Yes, you say that until it’s a fat girl with cross eyes and warts.”

“I hope I would still be  _ kind _ to a fat girl with cross eyes and warts,” Jaskier said, feeling unfairly attacked. He’d been trying to show he was on her side. 

“Oh, I don’t say you wouldn’t. I don’t think you’re cruel. But you’d barely notice her. She would have nothing you wanted. Is little Ciri plain or pretty?” Yennefer topped up her own glass this time, and offered some more to him with an arched eyebrow, which he accepted. 

“Pretty,” said Jaskier, “quite pretty. Possibly not so pretty that it’ll be a power or a burden to her, but you never really know how young people will turn out, do you? She might grow up to be a knock-out or she might be quite ordinary. I hope it won’t be all-important to how her life goes.”

“But it will, that’s the pity of it. Even if she’s twice the warrior her grandmother was, even if she’s a brilliant genius, or a diplomat who brings peace to the whole continent, she’s never going to be able to ignore her looks, and other people will never ignore them either.”

“Well, you’re much better placed than Geralt or me to help an intelligent young girl work out how to cope with all that,” Jaskier said. 

“This has nothing whatsoever to do with whether you and I could share Geralt,” said Yennefer. 

“No, but it could be another bit of common ground, to help us get along, if we both care about Ciri. And as you said, this is a family, so you wouldn’t just have a relationship with Geralt on his own. She’s part of the deal as much as I am.”

Yennefer sighed. “Well, as it stands I have no relationship with the girl at all. He hasn’t brought me to meet her yet, which suggests he’s not too keen on it. I don’t think he sees me as a fit person to be around his daughter.”

“Don’t mind that, Geralt doesn’t think  _ he’s _ a fit person to be around his daughter. And he lets  _ me _ live with them. He’s probably just waiting till he’s sure you’re all in, rather than introduce you and have you go away again.”

“I have to say, I’ve never had to contemplate becoming part of someone’s family before, even when it’s a family consisting of two men, a girl and a horse.”

“Geralt would be so pleased that you automatically included Roach,” Jaskier said, beaming. “He’d regard that as a very good sign.”

“What would my place even be in that family? I wouldn’t be Mother.” She sounded wistful. 

“Well, no one’s Mother. Geralt and I sort of share the duties. He teaches her about self-defence and strategy and survival skills and monsterology and how to look really really good in black, and I try to make sure the more civilised accomplishments she learned as a princess don’t completely wither as she goes feral, and we both try to make sure she seems reasonably clean and cheerful and isn’t visibly limping or leaking or anything.”

“Civilised accomplishments?” Yennefer looked sceptical. 

“Yes. We sing together a lot. She’s got rather a special voice so I’m helping her with breathing exercises and projection and so on. I enjoy teaching and she’s a bright pupil. And we have our little jokes about how odd our family is, what a strange collection of beasts that wouldn’t live together in nature.”

“You’re beasts?”

“Well, yes, because Geralt’s the White Wolf, she’s the Lion Cub — we decided I would be the Otter of Oxenfurt because alliteration is fun. And Roach is a horse, of course.”

“Of course. What makes you an otter?”

“You’d have to ask Geralt, he picked it out. You’ll presumably have to decide what sort of animal you are if you join us.”

“A black cat seems appropriate,” Yennefer said, playing with her earring. “A dreadful one, didn’t you say?”

“Oh, so he  _ did _ tell you about that conversation.”

“Yes. It surprised me. Though it didn’t offend me. You did seem to be expressing a genuine respect for my tenacity, even if your language was… earthy.”

“You can say rude, it was pretty rude. I was trying to startle Geralt out of getting all glum over you. It was an in-bed conversation and he looked in danger of losing his afterglow.”

“You two were talking about me in bed?” she asked quizzically. “Does that happen a lot?”

“Not often. I’m trying to remember how you came up. I’ve an idea he mentioned Roach too. Oh, that’s right. He tried to compliment my eyes, said something weird and backhanded about a horse’s eyes being prettier, then got blue and I realised he was thinking about you.”

“By comparison with his horse?”

“No, because as I am sure you are aware, you have gorgeous and memorable eyes.” He raised his glass to them and she smiled. 

“Geralt doesn’t strike me as the compliments about your eyes type.”

“He isn’t, but he makes an effort because he knows how much I like that sort of thing. That’s another thing I love about him, how willing he is to try to do things that don’t come that naturally to him — you see, he’s a shower and I’m a teller.”

“Thought you would say grower.”

“Cheeky, but I mean he expresses love in very practical ways. Hugs and kisses, getting you something to eat, letting you ride behind him, that sort of thing. I like to talk about how I feel and describe what about you elicits that feeling. I’ve managed to get him trained to respond in kind from time to time, and to actually say ‘I love you’ instead of thinking that’s established and doesn’t need to be repeated. Early on the most he said was I was important to him. He said that quite ardently, though, so I was pleased.”

“He’s said that to me, too. Quite ardently.”

“Does it matter to you whether he says ‘I love you?’ It’s not important, I’m just curious. Or nosy.”

“Honestly? Not much. I think I land on the side of actions. If he treats me lovingly and he’s dependable and trustworthy — which is where he’s really got to prove himself — that’s what I care about.”

“Am I imagining it, or are we both feeling rather better about each other than when we sat down?” Jaskier asked hopefully. 

“You’re not imagining it, but we’re drinking.”

“That does help, doesn’t it?”

“Tremendously, let’s have some more.” She held out her glass. 

“What about a toast?” he suggested, pouring. “To cats.”

“I’ll drink to that. Cheers to cats.”

“Especially the dreadful ones.” He drank and reflected that after all, Geralt wouldn’t be completely blinded by beauty and lust and residual feelings about Renfri, there had to be other engaging qualities to Yennefer and he was more likely to find them the longer he spent in her company. She was funny, anyway.

“Me now,” said Yennefer. “Here’s to… is it in rank bad taste to say djinns?”

“A bit.”

“I mean, you did nearly die. I have to say, I don’t really understand how you managed to forgive Geralt for that wish, other than just being slavishly devoted to him.”

“Well, I suppose it’s a combination of things. The first is that he didn’t  _ know _ he had real magic wishes at that point. I do think intentions matter, and you can’t have real intent if you don’t know anything will happen. The second is that he hadn’t slept in days and he really wasn’t thinking clearly. Third is that once he realised I was in danger he stopped at nothing to undo the harm. He wasn’t gentle or nice about it, because he was still really annoyed with me, but he showed in a practical way that he wasn’t going to let anything bad happen to me, which was as far as he was going to go at the time towards saying he cared for me.”

“So you were prepared to accept that as atonement?”

“Pretty much. That, and I didn’t really have any moral high ground because up until something horrible happened to my throat I had thought  _ I  _ was the one with the wishes and had been loudly wishing for a grisly demise for my chief professional rival, also a romantic tryst with a lady I would very much have liked to make Geralt jealous with. I mean, I absolutely wanted to be with her for her own sake, but I had a bad habit in those days of trying rather desperately to provoke him into… well, something or other.”

“Ah, but you didn’t  _ wish _ for him to do something or other.”

“I didn’t really truly think it was real and would work, so it didn’t feel as if there were really any consequences, I was just yelling about people far away and venting my feelings. Obviously that was extremely silly and I won’t make  _ that _ mistake again. Especially after I nearly had a grisly demise of my own, and even that wanker Marx doesn’t quite deserve that. Do I still hope his career fails utterly and he has to get a  _ job _ in a  _ shop? _ Yes obviously, but I shan’t be wishing him dead again.”

“To the utter failure of his career, then,” said Yennefer. 

“To the utter failure of his career!” He drank deeply to that. 

“And if you had really, truly believed it would work, would you have used a wish on Geralt?”

“Well, that’s a really tough one because I see the situation so differently now. I’m not sure what I’d have done even knowing the wishes would work — it still wouldn’t have seemed quite real because both targets were both far away and I wouldn’t see what was happening. If some little imp had whispered to me, ‘Why not test it out on the person right in front of you’... well, the thing that drove me up the wall about Geralt just then was how he wouldn’t admit to anything between us, even friendship. He wouldn’t tell me what was really on his mind, even when I didn’t want anything for myself, just to be able to help with what was bothering him. So I supposed I might have gone, ‘I wish for Geralt of Rivia to tell me exactly how he really feels about me,’ except genies are tricky, aren’t they? I could have blown a wish just for him to say ‘I really feel furious with you for trying to make me tell you that.’ No, wait, I never actually had wishes in the first place.”

“He could still have said the same thing,” Yennefer pointed out, leaning back in her chair. 

“True! Probably after first leaning in and looking me really intensely in the eyes to make me think a big confession was coming. He’s mean like that.”

“And if it had been a real magic wish and he did tell you exactly how he felt, what do you suppose he would have said?”

“You’re just coaxing me to talk about myself and Geralt in great detail because you hope I’ll say something embarrassing, but fortunately I love to talk about myself and I’m really hard to embarrass. So I actually happen to know he would have said, ‘You’re cute as hell and also annoying as hell and I simultaneously like you quite a lot and wish you would piss off forever, or at least just keep me company quietly because that way I might actually get some sleep. I’m so fucking tired.’”

“Nothing more?”

“Well, if he really dug deep he might have added, ‘I’m constantly afraid to express my burgeoning attraction to you because a) it clashes with my idea of how I should behave as A Man, b) I’m afraid that if you knew me better you’d go off me because I’m sure I’m Wrong Inside, and c) I’m convinced that if I ever concede that I might possibly not regard you as an unmitigated nuisance, you will Win and I will adore you helplessly for the rest of my life and feel like an idiot and never again have a moment’s peace.’”

“And given all that, how on earth did you eventually bag him?”

“Well — hang on, has he not told you?”

“He has not. Just a vague reference to being ‘together now’ and you being ‘important’ to him.”

“You know what? I would love to tell you, because it’s a great story, if a bit silly, but I’m pretty sure Geralt finds it intensely embarrassing and he once nearly bit my head off when he thought I was going to tell it. You’ll have to see if he’ll agree to tell you. I need my head, I use it nearly every day.”

“That’s unsatisfactory,” said Yennefer. 

“I know, isn’t it? One of my favourite memories and I’ve never been able to discuss it with anyone bar the other person who was there for the whole thing anyway.”

“In my experience, Geralt is not at all… difficult to get,” said Yennefer, toying with her necklace. 

“Because he’s a lot more comfortable falling for a woman than for a man. It doesn’t make him feel weird about himself or what he wants. He needed to grow out of the idea that wanting a man meant not being a proper one himself. Plus of course his reservations about me personally, as the only man he’s ever actually fallen in love with.”

“I just can’t help wondering if you didn’t enlist a little supernatural assistance to get him over that… bump.” She was vamping him a bit hard, Jaskier thought, particularly the way she pouted her lips and put a little pop on the end of “bump.” It was undeniably effective. 

“I can honestly tell you that no, I did not. Some odd things happened but you need to keep in mind that after you dumped him on the mountain after the dragon hunt, he proceeded to dump me — while still never having admitted we were friends, because he was feeling angry and sorry for himself and wanted someone to blame for how complicated his life had got. So I took off feeling really crushed and decided I wasn’t going to speak to him again without receiving an abject apology. I actually stuck to it for over a year, I think — until the point when he turned up again, whereupon I folded like paper, because… well, I love him, and it’s a lot easier to stay angry with someone when you can’t see his face or hear his voice.”  _ Especially when the voice asks you to fuck him.  _ “So he came and found me, I didn’t do anything to lure him in or move things along.”

“Still doesn’t address how things changed, because I do not believe he arrived out of the blue to say ‘Jaskier, I’ve been a fool, I’m actually madly in you’re-important-to-me.’”

“Look, good try, and I enjoy your take on his voice, but I’m really not going to kiss and tell.”

“Did he apologise?”

“Not right away, but eventually — and the apology was everything I’d wanted.”

“I still think there’s something fishy about your story,” Yennefer said, with her chin in her hand. 

“Oh, there’s a hole in the middle of it you could drive a wagon through. But you’ve just got to ask Geralt. Maybe he’ll surprise me and tell you all about it without hesitating.”

“When pigs fly.”

“Why does it interest you so much?”

“I’m not really sure. I suppose… well, it’s far from the first time I’ve been involved with a man who was involved with someone else, but generally either they didn’t know or, if they knew, they hated it but couldn’t do anything about it. There were a few cases where they knew and didn’t care, which took some of the fun out of it. Someone who knows and encourages it because he wants the man to be as happy as possible is a bit unprecedented for me. Now, when you get a man to cheat  _ with _ you, you know for certain that when the opportunity arises he’ll cheat  _ on _ you. You know how he’s going to treat you because of how he treats the person you’re taking him from. So by the same principle, I suppose I’m trying to understand how the thing between you and Geralt works as a guide to how it may work between him and me.” She refilled her glass, finishing the bottle.

“I’ll go and get us some more — and perhaps something to eat?”

“Not hungry, but still thirsty,” said Yennefer. “Drinkies making you more tolerable all the time, thanks.”

He was feeling sort of rumpled and indignant as he went to get the wine. Yes, all right, he was very much a cheater just as she was, he got people to cheat with him all the time, but he did that because they were unappreciated or neglected by their spouses and deserved a bit of fun and love (for a Jaskier value of love) and they inspired and delighted him. He was being nice! The fun of it didn’t lie in the cheated party not knowing or being unable to stop it. In the unfortunately rare cases where they didn’t mind or were actually in favour (the Contessa’s husbands had all been terrifically good sports, albeit probably a bit old to have strong feelings about it), that just made life easier and more pleasant. 

Come to think of it, it had been months since he’d had an affair. He hadn’t actually been missing the thrill and the novelty of it. Was he getting domesticated or something? It was so nice and comfortable being with Geralt all the time, but that wasn’t like him — not just  _ nice _ and  _ comfortable,  _ even if nice and comfortable included… oh dear.  _ Regular _ sex.  _ Planned. _ Because they were  _ responsible _ and made sure Ciri’s needs were met before they attended to their own, and they were  _ sensible _ and chose times and places when they could be confident of no interruptions. Geralt had actually said he liked planning it because it meant he always had something good to look forward to, which was very sweet but not one bit spontaneous or passionate.

“What have I become?” Jaskier whispered to himself, standing in the inn hallway with wine bottles in hand.

Back in the sitting room, Yennefer was standing by the window gazing out, looking picturesque. The soft pink roses didn’t really work with her colouring and style, she was more of a deep dark red roses person; he had seen some that were almost black that would suit her perfectly.

“I’ve got two,” he said, “because we seem to be in for a sesh and because I’ve got a thing or two to say.”

“Oh, indeed? Pour it out, then.” She smiled at him and he thought she seemed just very slightly tipsy, barely a suggestion of it; either she had a good tolerance or just very good composure. The atmosphere in the room was much warmer; it was shaping up to be an oppressively hot and humid day and he was starting to sweat. 

“All right, there’s this,” he said, topping up both glasses. “The way Geralt and I are needn’t tell you anything about how you and he will be, because you and I are completely different. So naturally he responds differently to each of us. I mean, I think it’s safe to say he’s got a taste for the finer things, we’re both elegant, sophisticated, educated people possessed of a certain je ne sais quoi. But  _ I _ am sunshine and  _ you _ are moonlight, so there.”

“So I’m romantic, mysterious, spooky… popular with werewolves… you’re bright and hot and give people a burn with too much exposure. And fatal to vampires?” She sank elegantly into her chair.

“I wish, that would be terrific. I could hire myself out like Geralt does, albeit as a very niche specialist. I wouldn’t even have to fight them, just shine at them. Far less messy. You should see the state of him when he gets back from contracts, the dirt and blood and  _ secretions _ . I usually dump a few buckets of water over him to get the worst out of his hair before he gets in a bath.”

“You enjoy that, don’t you?”

“Well, I don’t enjoy the smell. He does far too much disembowelling if you ask me. But if you mean, do I enjoy taking care of him when he comes home all roughed up? Yes, I rather do. He appreciates it and I like feeling appreciated. It took a while for him to be comfortable accepting my taking care of him, he’d grump and say he didn’t need it. Then on one occasion he actually needed my help with something he couldn’t do for himself, which was really gross, a foreign body and an incision and tweezers were involved, and I did  _ not  _ want to but I did anyway — and threw up a bit afterwards — and for some reason the fact I still helped him when I was grossed out made it all right for him to let me help in ways that don’t bother me, and for him to accept it and rather like it? I don’t pretend to understand everything that goes on in his head. But yes, I clean his wounds and put arnica on his bruises and chamomile on the chafing, and rub liniment on his sore muscles, and he doesn’t have to do his own stitches any more, which means some of his recent scars are a bit tidier than the older ones, I’m proud of that.”

“And in exchange he both pops off and sews on your buttons.”

“And cooks most of the meals. We do about the same amount of tidying up.”

“So in fact you’re both good housewives.”

“Yes, except for not having a house or wives.”

“No, you  _ are  _ the wives, you see. Which I think is tremendous because that is  _ not _ my department at all. It’d be great to have a wife, Geralt will do nicely for that.”

“Are you actually thinking of marrying him?” Jaskier asked, startled. 

“Goodness, no, I’ve yet to decide if I can live with him.”

“Awfully warm in here,” Jaskier muttered. He went to the window to see if it could open wider and undid the top three buttons of his jacket and shirt. The air on his neck and the top vee of his chest felt fresh for a moment but clearly the heat was coming in from outside. The sunshine was disappearing and big blue-black clouds were approaching, reminiscent of Geralt’s bruises. Soon it was going to rain hard and the pretty little climbing roses would get battered. On impulse he took out his pocket knife and started cutting stems. 

“What are you going to do with those?” Yennefer asked him. She had pulled her feet up onto the edge of her seat and was holding her glass on her knees, looking annoyingly un-sweaty. 

“Something clever,” said Jaskier. “I don’t know how to cast a spell or behead a ghoul —“

“Same as beheading anybody else, I’d have thought,” said Yennefer. 

“— but you learn different things when romance is a part of your livelihood.” He sat down and started twisting green stems together. 

“Romance is bulllshit,” said Yennefer. “I’m not saying love isn’t real, but romance is just a lot of tricks that aren’t even magic.”

“I’m too young to have become so cynical,” said Jaskier. 

“I was more cynical than you when I was eighteen.”

“You don’t think Geralt’s romantic?”

“I think Geralt is a really… good…  _ fuck _ , and I do believe he loves me.”

“He can be, I swear. Just… not very often, and usually in the middle of sex, he’ll say something that makes my heart flutter.”

“Nothing said in the middle of sex counts as romantic.”

“Does romance keep its pants on?” He jabbed his thumb with a tiny thorn and had to suck it for a moment. 

“If romance existed, yes, I expect it would keep its pants on. Seduction is real, though. People tend to confuse the two.”

“Well, I’ve done both, and I see a difference. Romance is pink and seduction is red, that’s all.”

“Geralt is not a pink person.”

“It’s his favourite colour.”

“Bullshit,” she said with a big smile. 

“That’s what I thought, but he insisted. And this absolutely proves my point, because he had me pinned in bed, naked, and I was defending my position that a blowjob in a stable could count as romantic if you were in love, and… actually, this isn’t the point I wanted to prove.”

“Yes, that’s not romantic, just raunchy.”

“And I can't even remember now how this led us to favourite colours. But I thought his favourite must be black, and he said it was pink, and went on that it was pink like my lips and my cheeks… and my tongue and my dick, yes, this is not as purely romantic as I remember it, but it  _ felt _ very romantic!”

“You’ve lost this one,” said Yennefer.

“I think… he called me a goose? But I said something really suave after that which had him blushing. I wish I could remember what. I do remember we had a wonderful night. Just utterly in love. And he gave me a fantastic wake-up blowjob the next morning, which I found very romantic, so I think I’d influenced his thinking.”

“For some reason it’s hard to imagine him doing that. I suppose I assumed it was always you who wanted to suck  _ his _ cock.”

“The desire is mutual.”

“You’re not at all embarrassed?”

“Anyone who’s embarrassed by an urge to suck Geralt’s dick just isn’t in touch with their feelings. Also, for fuck’s sake, woman, I’m sitting here half pissed making a flower crown out of pink roses, do you think I’m remotely concerned with maintaining a façade of conventional masculinity?”

“That’s a point. Are you going to wear the crown?”

“Of course I am, it wouldn’t suit you at all.”

“A trifle harsh.”

“I’ll make you one after this if you insist.”

“So, romance aside, you would definitely say he’s a good partner?” Yennefer said, as if skipping back.

“He’s a wonderful partner for  _ me. _ I mean, granted, there are downsides. A life on the road is part of the deal, and that means a certain lack of comfort, because there’s far more camping than any civilised person should do. I used to enjoy a rather better class of accommodations. And life with Ciri, well, I love her to bits but it’s so hard to get any privacy.”

“That does sound like a fly in the ointment.”

“It’s a bloody great beetle in the ointment, but it’s just the reality of having a child — especially of her age, when they’re getting closer to adults in their understanding. She doesn’t need to see or hear us in the throes of passion, it would be mortifying for everyone. Geralt’s even embarrassed for her to see him kiss me, which I think is harmless. Kaer Morhen’s a gloomy old hole but at least there we have a room to ourselves and she’s got one of her own. It’s got a bit better since I coaxed him into buying the caravan.”

“What’s that like?” Yennefer said, looking distinctly dubious.

“Oh, she’s great. We call her Bumblebee, at least Ciri and I do. As a sop to the fact that Geralt wouldn’t actually let me paint her black and yellow like I wanted. She’s a nice boring sensible forest green, but we painted a wolf on her when he was away. This way we’ve got beds and a tiny little rather unsafe stove, and space for gear. Once Ciri goes to bed at night Geralt and I sit outside by the fire pashing like we’re teenagers hiding from our parents, ironically enough. I suppose that’s sexy in its own way but the nostalgia wears thin. Then we either make ourselves a little spot nearby with a blanket, out of sight but within earshot, or we lie in the grass  _ under _ the caravan and try incredibly hard to be  _ quiet. _ Later on we go to bed to sleep.”

“Why does it need to be in earshot?” Yennefer asked. “She’s not a baby who might wake up and cry and need changing or feeding.”

“No, but because of who she is, Geralt worries. We’ve been doing well lying low, but he sees assassins and kidnappers in every shadow, not without some reason, so he always stays close enough to hear if she needs help. Luckily his earshot’s further than most, but it’s still limiting.”

“Don’t think I like the sound of that,” said Yennefer, pulling a mouth. “I suppose I can just bring my own tent. I can make one bigger on the inside than the outside and soundproof.”

“ _ Please _ can we borrow it? Please, pretty please can we borrow your fuck tent?”

“It’s not a  _ fuck _ tent.”

“Oh, but it will be.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Tent of forbidden carnal pleasures.”

“Gross,” said Yennefer.

“Oh, I’m sorry, shall we call it the romance tent?”

“We can call it Yennefer’s tent that Jaskier is not allowed into on pain of his mouth filling up with spiders, if you push your luck.”

“The fact of the matter is I can still lure him away for a knee-trembler up against a tree.” He tucked in the ends of the last stems and placed the crown on his head. “I am the king of roses and romance.”

“That really does suit you, I’ll grant you that. Pretty little thing, aren’t you?”

“I think I’m more handsome than pretty but I’ll take that as the backhanded compliment it was no doubt intended.” He got up and went to the window to gather more roses. The clouds were lowering and he briefly thought that he hoped Ciri would take in the laundry they’d hung out on a hedge that morning before the weather broke. Then he felt old and housewifish and indignant about feeling either of those things. A romantic bard shouldn’t be worrying about whether his shirts got dry; he shouldn’t have been up with the birds washing his shirts in a stream (and singing the washing song he and Ciri had invented to make it less of a bore) in the first place. He should have woken up luxuriously late in a silky bed next to someone gorgeous or maybe two or three, with just enough of a hangover to know he’d had a really good time, and clean shirts should just have happened on request. He cut stems rather vengefully and took them back to the table and emptied his glass. 

A sudden rush of cold air entered the room and he shivered. 

“Any second now,” said Yennefer, perking up, and then the rain poured down. It was a proper deluge. If the shirts weren’t in (oh, fuck the shirts) they were getting a second, very thorough rinsing. “I love that moment just before the rain rushes in,” she said. “Out in the open you can see it whooshing towards you. Exciting, but better to be under cover.”

“Isn’t it a wonderful sound?” Jaskier asked, temporarily forgetting his bad mood. “I’ve always liked it, but it’s got a personal significance too. It was pouring rain outside the day Geralt and I first went to bed together. I remember just fiercely willing myself to remember this, remember exactly what it was like, because it was so perfect, I was so happy, that even the things that weren’t perfect became part of how happy I was, like the bruises on my bum.” He started twisting together the stems for her crown. 

“What on earth did he do to you?” Yennefer asked. 

“Oh, nothing rough, he just grabbed me rather tightly in moments of great emotion.”

“He’s certainly never bruised me. Although I’ve definitely scratched him.”

“Oh, so you’re not counting that?” He touched the side of his neck under his ear. 

“Oh yes,” she said with a small smile. “He shouldn’t have done that.”

“Gets aggressive with his mouth sometimes, doesn’t he? In my experience usually when he’s in me from behind.”

“I couldn’t comment,” Yennefer murmured demurely, but then she giggled and it was such an endearingly dirty little giggle that Jaskier was quite charmed. 

“You left it there so I’d see it, you minx,” he said. 

“Oh! That’s what I’ll be. Not a cat. A mink.” She looked delighted with the idea. 

“A mink is a posh weasel,” said Jaskier. 

“An otter is a wet weasel,” Yennefer retorted. 

“To weasels,” he said, raising his glass, “clearly Geralt likes weasels.”

“Weasels.” She drank deeply.

“In fact, the subject of a particularly atrocious joke he told the other day. He was explaining some point of wildlife I didn’t grasp, about small predators or something, to Ciri and then asked her ‘How can you tell the difference between a stoat and a weasel?’ She thought it was a serious question and made intelligent guesses about their size and colour and behaviour, and then he said, ‘No, the weasel is weaselly recognised, the stoat is stoatally different.’ And he said it dead seriously, so it took her a moment to realise he was messing with her, and she was _ outraged _ , and he sat there smiling to himself because he is a terrible, horrible man and it is our misfortune to love him.”

“I think I’ve gone off him a bit,” said Yennefer, wrinkling her nose. 

“It’s my fault,” Jaskier admitted. “He was grumbling to me that he felt like I always got to be the fun one, not him, and I advised him to try using humour. He took it very much to heart and I’m afraid I’ve created a monster.”

“Really starting to think I might be better off setting myself up in a tower and just inviting him to visit when I want a bit of the good stuff. Summon him to my side,” she said, making a mystic gesture.

“Not too sure he’d like that,” said Jaskier. “He might view it as an inconvenience.”

“I bet  _ you’d _ like being magically summoned at the pleasure of a beautiful enchantress.”

“Well,  _ yeah. _ I do in fact have a song about that — the young knight who’s summoned by the enchantress who chooses him as her lover but then dismisses him, and he goes on a quest to find her tower again. When he finds it, it’s a ruin, and he realises she called to him from across time and when he visited her was hundreds of years ago. Very sad, a bit spooky, highly romantic.”

“Well, what does he do then?” asked Yennefer.

“Lies down and dies of love, and the flowering vines that have overgrown the tower ruin cover his body like the enchantress’ embrace.”

“Boo,” said Yennefer, and blew a short sharp raspberry. “What sort of man gives up over a matter of a few hundred years? Weak. Bet Geralt wouldn’t do that.”

“There wasn’t a dry eye in the house the last time I sang that.”

“Hayfever,” said Yennefer scornfully.

“You’re a mean drunk,” said Jaskier, shaking his head. “Nearly done with your crown. One, two, three… I crown you queen of wine and weasels.” He placed the flowers on her head with a flourish.

“Ooh,” said Yennefer, getting up with a slight wobble. There was a mirror on the wall and she went over to inspect herself. “Not bad,” she said complacently.

“I still think you’d look better in red,” Jaskier said, leaning over her shoulder to adjust his own crown. 

“Red is seduction, right?” she asked, turning to look at him, which meant her face was very close to his, and her eyes were very knowing, and her lips were very red. Her gaze dropped to his lips for a moment, then back up to his eyes. Jaskier felt his face grow rather warm. The rain was still roaring down outside and it made the rest of the world seem blocked out, far away. He wasn’t altogether sure she wasn’t just playing with him; if he leaned in to kiss her she might laugh (or cackle), but why shouldn’t it be a real invitation?

_ I haven’t done anything stupid in a while; I’m overdue. _ He was just beginning to lean when Yennefer turned away, her hair brushing across his face, and swayed out into the middle of the floor, slowly turning around with her arms extended. “The queen of wine and weasels,” she murmured. “Ween and wisels.”

“Dear Yennefer, I think you may be a bit smashed,” he said. 

“Well, give me some music to dance to,” she said. “The queen commands you.”

“The queen can’t command the king, and sadly I left my lute in Bumblebee. But if you want to dance,” he said, holding out his hand with a small bow. 

“I used to think it would be so… elegant and beautiful to dance at court,” she said. “But it’s just a load of balls.” She took his hand and returned the bow. 

“Well, as a musician, balls have been my bread and butter,” he said, and then gave an undignified sputter of laughter. 

“Come on, then,” she said. “I suppose you know the latest steps. I’m years out of date.”

“Then I’ll pretend I’m dancing with my granny,” he said courteously. 

“You’d better not, you cheeky sod,” she said.

So he sang, unaccompanied, the song of the knight and the enchantress as they danced. The rain roared and hissed, gusts of wind rattled the windows and blew wet leaves and petals into the room. They were both too tipsy to dance well, but the fun of the whole thing was to dance around one another, to draw closer and pull apart, and when they stumbled and bumped into each other Yennefer leaned against his chest and he put his arms around her and kissed her, perhaps a little clumsily and heavily, but she returned it in kind. She tasted like wine and smelled like roses, and under that like clean fresh sweat. 

_ This is all right, isn’t it? I mean, we’re really just closing a loop. I don’t think she really  _ likes _ me, but I’m seeing something in her I like. Maybe it’s just under two bottles of wine. And I haven’t kissed anyone but Geralt in months, that’s not normal. Clearly I need this. It’s all right. _

Yennefer pushed him against the wall, which caused him to bump his head a little painfully, and kissed him hungrily while he took a chance on squeezing her bottom, which got his lower lip bitten but no other reproof. She put her hand between his legs and he was just cheerily thinking  _ Goodbye, point of no return _ when the room filled with sharp white light and almost immediately there was a deafening clap of thunder. He actually thought he felt it in the air. Yennefer’s hand tightened in alarm and he yelped and she said “Shit, sorry,” and then they heard screaming. 

“The fuck?” Jaskier said, because for a moment he thought Yennefer was somehow making that noise without moving her mouth and he couldn’t think why. The door to the sitting room was abruptly thrown open and a man stuck his head in and shouted “Out! The roof’s been struck by lightning.”

Standing outside in the rain, their hair and clothes plastered down wet, watching the interior of the inn’s upper storey making a spirited effort to burn, a certain mental if not actual chemical sobriety descended on them. 

“Clearly,” said Yennefer, “we were going to do an abomination.”

“And some beneficent fate sent us a final warning?” Jaskier asked. 

“Think so,” she said. 

“Pity it had to come at the expense of these people’s business,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the innkeeper and his associates running back and forth carrying what they could out of the ground floor before the ceiling caved in. He had offered to help them but bumped into the doorframe on his way in and was told to piss off, he was drunk, which was fair. 

“Destiny doesn’t care for the little people,” said Yennefer. 

“What, dwarfs?” Jaskier said, then, “Oh, right.” He picked the sodden crown of roses out of his hair — the petals were almost all gone — and went on, “I’ve never had an actual thunderclap intervene before. And I’ve done a lot of rampantly unwise romancing in my day.”

“As have I. That’s how we know it would have been a biggie,” said Yennefer. 

“Well, I suppose we have someone to thank,” said Jaskier. He looked skyward and said, doubtfully, “Thanks?”

“My stuff’s upstairs,” said Yennefer gloomily. 

“You can’t sort of magic it out?”

“Oh, right!” she exclaimed. She abruptly disappeared, making the air shiver and giving him a hell of a turn, then moments later reappeared clutching a bag, bent over and threw up. 

“Oh dear,” said Jaskier, trying to gather her hair back.

“Guh,” said Yennefer, sniffed and spat. The absolutely uncanny thing about Yennefer was that she looked like a wet rat, she’d just been sick, her eyeliner was melting and she still somehow looked pretty good. She straightened up, tipped her head back and opened her mouth to get some clean rain in it. 

“Can you, like, stop that?” he asked, gesturing vaguely at the fire. 

“Too pissed,” she said, shaking her head. 

“Can you magic yourself  _ un _ pissed?”

“ _ No,  _ because I am  _ pissed _ . Doing magic on your own body is  _ hard _ , you’ve got to concentrate or you could end up with your inside on the outside.”

“That would be a further blemish on this blighted day.” He wiped his hair back from his forehead. “That wasn’t  _ really _ for us, was it?” There had been no nearby lightning or thunder since that strike, although there were occasional flashes and growls at a greater distance.

“Of course not, but it’s a damn good reason to stop doing something we’d both regret.”

“I don’t even know if Geralt would mind, but I suppose not knowing is reason enough.”

“I’d mind. You’re so not my type.”

“I’d have shown you a good time,” he said, “but otherwise, same.”

“Oh, obviously it would have been good. You’d come your little brains out.”

“Rude. I have an excellent brain, I just wasn’t using it in there. But that said, care to come home with me? It’s a bit small but it’s warm and dry.”

“Do you think Geralt will mind that?”

“If he does, I’ll take responsibility.” He held out his hand for her bag. 

“I don’t usually worry about going where I’m not welcome,” Yennefer said, passing it over. “I must really like him or something.”

“That’d be nice, given that he adores you,” said Jaskier, walking out of the inn yard. 

“Which is both exciting and disconcerting,” she said, following him. “The problem with seriously liking people is the monstrous power it gives them to hurt you — and you to hurt yourself over them. I don’t know why I’m telling  _ you _ all this.”

“Thanks a lot, shall I throw your bag in the ditch?” Jaskier enquired cheerfully. 

“Because you’re a bard and all that sort of thing is absolutely bog standard love lyrics,” she said. “It’s not a fresh observation and I’m annoyed with myself for feeling that way, but at least I know you know exactly what I mean.”

“Oh, so that was a lot friendlier than it sounded,” he said, relieved. “Yes, I do.”

“And he’s already really hurt me once and I have to ask, am I just a fool going back for more? Am I just being blinded by the fact that he’s absurdly hot and a really good kisser and actually likes going down on me? Am I going to be one of those tiresome women who keep going back to a man everyone else knows is a waste of time, bleating ‘But he loves me!’?”

“I don’t think so, but I’m flagrantly biased.” Jaskier tried to think. Being cold and wet wasn’t giving him the clarity of mind he might have hoped. “I mean, what he did was stupid. It was stupid and desperate, not sneaky or heartless. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice but he might well find something new and stupid to do, especially if he gets all emotional and thingy.”

“Thingy,” repeated Yennefer. 

“Thingy. Ugh. My right boot’s sprung a leak.” He turned and walked backwards, looking at her, hugging herself and bedraggled but still somehow poised. “You just have to decide to take a chance, I suppose. For me it was love at first sight and I never really thought it through. I never  _ decided _ I was going to trust him, I just did.”

“Yes, but can I just say, you’re a romantic and also a little bit of a horny idiot?”

“Obviously, I kissed  _ you _ , didn’t I?”

“Fair point. So you wouldn’t say you  _ decided  _ to forgive him and take him back, either?”

“That wasn’t a decision I made with my brain.”

“Ew.”

“My heart, queen weasel, my heart. Ow! Fuck.” His foot had slid straight out from under him on the slick road and he landed hard on his back, his head bouncing off the ground. “Second time I’ve cracked my head today,” he whimpered. 

“Poor wet weasel,” said Yennefer, giving him a hand up. 

“This suit is new, and now it’s not just wet, it’s muddy. It’ll be ruined.”

“Aw, you dressed up for me,” she said with a mocking smile. 

“Of course I did, you always look fucking stunning, do you think I was going to walk in looking like a tramp?” He turned and trudged on. “My pride demanded it.”

“You did look pretty good.”

“Why, thank you! It’s not much further now, but we’ll have to go over the stile in the hedge up ahead.”

The rain was showing no signs of abating. They both slithered rather down the grassy slope on the other side of the hedge but made it unharmed to the flatter area near a curving stream where the caravan stood and Roach grazed rather glumly at a small distance under some trees, together with Trout, the somewhat larger draught horse they had acquired to pull the caravan. There was a light showing in the caravan and although he was wet through, muddy, still at least a quarter drunk and had been feeling highly resentful of domesticated life, Jaskier felt a little warm glow of homecoming. 

There was a small overhang of the roof above the steps up to the caravan, and he put Yennefer there with her bag and asked her to wait. 

“Right,” she said, then, to his fascination, passed her hands over her streaming wet hair and made it bounce up dry, shiny and slightly curled. 

“Can you do mine too?” he asked. 

“No.”

“Is it dry or have you only made it look dry?” He tried to touch it to check and she swatted his hand. 

“It’s dry, go on.” She sounded tense so he left it at that. 

He opened the door and looked in. The stove was lit, the air was warm and a little damp because assorted pieces of not quite dry laundry were hanging from a line attached to hooks in the ceiling. Geralt and Ciri were sitting cross-legged on the floor playing cards and gently bickering about whether Geralt was cheating. The little glow turned into a great big one of familial affection and he exclaimed, “Here you are snug in your coop, my little chicken and my big — rooster.”

“Are you drunk in the middle of the day?” Ciri asked, astutely. 

“I have never claimed to be a role model for you. I’m more of an object lesson. Yes. But only a bit.”

“How did it go?” Geralt asked. 

“Surprisingly well! But can you come out here a minute?”

Geralt got up and followed him out under the overhang, which made it quite crowded with three people. Jaskier pushed the door shut and heard Yennefer saying “Hello” and then Geralt said “Yen,” in the Particular Tone of Voice he reserved for her and spent an unnecessary length of time administering kisses to someone he had seen yesterday, leading Jaskier to conclude that although it wasn’t anywhere near as bad as it might be, he was still a little, peevishly jealous. 

Also, somehow Yennefer had magicked her face clean and her eyeliner back on. Jaskier had often been impressed by how quickly a resourceful woman could redo her face to appear almost untouched but that was clearly witchcraft. Either she was sobering up naturally or it was much safer and easier to do magic on one’s own outsides than on the innards. And she smelled noticeably like lilacs and gooseberries, and he was prepared to bet that her mouth didn’t taste like rosé vomit any more. 

“I’ve brought her back with me,” he said, a little louder than necessary just so Geralt remembered Yennefer had come back with  _ him _ , he hadn’t come back with  _ her _ , there was a primacy to these things, “because firstly, we had a very successful diplomatic summit and are feeling pretty amicable, and secondly, if you look up over there,” he indicated a point on the skyline where black smoke was rising to meet the black clouds, “Yennefer’s inn’s on fire. We didn’t do it,” he added, because it looked as if the thought was crossing Geralt’s mind. 

“It was struck by lightning,” said Yennefer, “which I’m not taking personally.”

“So with no other inn in town, I thought at least if she came back here she could dry out and not catch her death of cold,” Jaskier concluded. 

“Of course,” said Geralt. “Come in. You can meet Ciri.”

Ciri had perhaps been listening near the door. When Geralt opened it to let Yennefer in she was leaning against a cupboard doing her best to look menacing, cleaning under her nails with a big knife. They all shuffled in awkwardly and tried not to mind the damp laundry overhead. 

At this point Geralt seemed to be overwhelmed by awkwardness; needing to introduce one’s mistress to one’s adopted child with one’s boyfriend’s clean shirt flopping on one’s head would have that effect, Jaskier supposed. His ears turned pink and he said formally, “Ciri, I’d like you to meet my dear friend Yenneberg of — Yennefer of Vengerberg, and Yen, this is my daughter Ciri.”

“Hello,” said Ciri coldly. Behind Geralt and Yennefer, Jaskier made a what-are-you-doing face at her. Did she just not like the looks of Yennefer or was this a misplaced loyalty to him sort of thing? Maybe it was more of a not wanting to share Geralt’s time and attention with yet another person thing, or Queen Calanthe’s blood stirring at random, but either way she was being a bit rude and the attempt to look tough and scary was going to make him laugh if she didn’t stop. 

“I’m glad to meet you,” Yennefer said, and then, rather cleverly he thought, “Jaskier has been telling me good things about you.”

“Like what?” Ciri asked, folding her arms across her chest, the knife still sticking out to one side. 

“Ciri,” said Geralt, not best pleased. 

“That you’re bright, and funny, and brave. And I don’t expect you to take to me immediately. I wouldn’t if I were you, but he seems to think we might get on once we know each other.”

Ciri darted her eyes towards Jaskier suspiciously. He mouthed “BE NICE” at her and finished with an exaggerated pleading grin. Her mouth twitched. She looked away, then back to Yennefer and said, “I hope so.” She put the knife back in her belt and seemed to stand down a bit. “How did you keep your hair dry all the way here when it’s pouring rain and your clothes are wet through?”

“I’m a mage, and there have to be some perks in exchange for all the hard grind to become one.”

“I did tell you,” said Geralt. 

“I thought magic was just for important things like fighting evil,” said Ciri. “I grew up with a druid and he didn’t use it to dry his hair. Geralt knows some magic and he doesn’t either.”

“Well, perhaps it was vanity, but I wanted to make a good impression on you and not arrive looking like a drowned rat,” said Yennefer with a slight smile. 

“Or a wet weasel,” said Jaskier, and she gave him a Look. “Anyway, her clothes  _ are _ wet and I told her she could come here to change into dry, so let’s make room. You can help her, Ciri, show her where things are.” He took Geralt’s arm and towed him outside. 

“But,” said Geralt, trying to stop him from shutting the door after them. 

“Trust me,” said Jaskier, pushing it to, “what we have there is the meeting of two extremely strong-minded women and they need to work it out themselves. If you try to get in the middle you’ll piss them both off.”

“I didn’t like the way Ciri was speaking to Yen. That wasn’t like her.”

“Yeah, I don’t know exactly what that was about. She might just be territorial. Speaking of which, where’s  _ my _ welcome-home kiss?”

“Sorry,” said Geralt, and kissed him in an entirely satisfactory way. “Why are you covered in mud and flower petals?” he asked, peeling a wet rose petal off the side of Jaskier’s neck. “They’re all inside your collar.”

“I may have been swanning around with a flower crown on. We may have been acting fairly silly. But we actually enjoyed each other’s company! I hope one day we may do so without alcohol.”

“That doesn’t really sound like Yen,” said Geralt. 

“Different people bring out different sides of us, and I am very charming. She started out pretty prickly, but I persevered. It’s not as if we hammered out a treaty, but you know, I can be around her without feeling like I want to hiss like a cat. She’s actually funny, in a bitchy way. Oh, and she really wants to know how we got back together, but I didn’t tell her, except obviously that you came crawling back to me, not the other way round. Said she’ll have to ask you.” He dotted his finger to Geralt’s nose. 

“Can I make something up?” Geralt asked. 

“You can tell her the True Love’s Kiss version.”

“She’ll see through that.”

“Yeah, but I don’t care,” he said, smiling. 

“Could we just tell her I had to fuck you?” Geralt whispered close to his ear. 

“No! Be enough of a man to admit you love getting rammed in the arse with hot dick,” Jaskier whispered back. “What are you afraid of?”

“That she’ll laugh.”

“Yeah, I think she will laugh. Could you survive? Or would Yennefer laughing be more fatal than all the times you’ve been bitten, impaled or generally mangled?”

“More upsetting,” Geralt muttered.

“Yeah, but won’t it be nicer when she knows and you can just talk about it when you want to?”

“Why would I want to talk about it to her?”

“Sometimes women like to know these things. Sometimes they actually enjoy the idea. I think it’s the reversal. Anyway, look, I won’t tell her, I won’t make you tell her, but if you want her never to know what you and I like to get up to, it may become tricky.”

“Are you all right?” Geralt asked, picking off another petal. “You’re probably going to catch cold.”

“No, the booze is keeping the cold out. Give me another kiss, that works too.” Geralt pulled him into a close embrace and did as he asked. “I might also have mentioned,” Jaskier murmured against his lips, “that it was pouring rain like this during our first time. I didn’t  _ specifically _ mention that being close to you when it’s raining hard makes me really horny, but you should be aware.”

“I’m aware,” Geralt said quietly, “and you’re aware we’re not doing anything about that right now.”

“Of course we’re not. I wouldn’t dream of it. I just want you to know that I know that you know that I know.” Geralt was gazing at his lips in an agreeably mesmerised way.

“You’re determined to make my life difficult, aren’t you?” Geralt asked.

“Difficult, but such fun.”

The door budged open and Geralt sprang back as if he’d been stung. Ciri popped her head out and asked, “Do you want to see?”

“See what?”

Inside, Yennefer was looking very pleased with herself and wearing Jaskier’s midnight blue suit. Geralt must have been busy with his needle while the rain kept him inside; the buttons were back on. 

“That was my last clean shirt before this lot dry,” Jaskier said. “And don’t you have your own clothes in that bag?”

“Yes, but in this little space wearing a long full skirt just seems excessive,” she said, turning around with her hands on her hips, “and I think this suits me.”

“I’m not saying you wear it as well as I do, but you do wear it well.” He glanced at Geralt, whose ears had shaded from pink to red, while the back of his neck was rapidly following. With truly impressive self-control, he simply said, “You look very nice.”

However it had happened, the tension between Yennefer and Ciri seemed to have diminished. They weren’t exactly friends yet, but Ciri no longer seemed to view Yennefer as an interloper. She offered to deal her into the game she and Geralt had been playing. Yennefer sat down and applied herself to learning the rules. Since none of his own clothes were both clean and dry, Jaskier misappropriated Geralt’s spare shirt and slightly more destroyed trousers and got changed outside, then came back in and burrowed under the covers of his and Geralt’s bunk because he was now feeling morbidly chilly.

“I’m going to get sick and die,” he said morosely.

“No you’re not,” said Ciri, and patted his head.

“Alone and unloved.”

“Everyone loves you,” she said. “Do you need your special thick woolly socks?”

“‘es,” he said feebly.

“Unfortunately, I lent them to Yennefer.”

“I cooked you an egg this morning, you ingrate.”

“She’s your guest,” Ciri said. “You brought her home.”

“Yes, Jaskier, you brought me home,” said Yennefer, laying down a card.

“It’s your turn, Geralt,” Ciri pointed out. He was gazing dreamily at Yennefer. Ciri rolled her eyes and went “tch,” and Yennefer nudged him. 

The card game occupied them until the rain stopped; Geralt played extremely badly, particularly given that he had taught this game to Ciri and claimed he and his brothers had invented it, and the only real competition was between Ciri and Yennefer. Jaskier, who was warm again, drowsed in and out listening to their voices. He thought they were… cautiously impressed with one another. Ciri was a good bluffer for one so young, and of course she knew the game much better than Yennefer did, but she still seemed very satisfied with her win. It had been a challenge and Yennefer hadn’t thrown the game out of politeness, which would have been sure to offend her. 

They emerged into the late afternoon sunshine cramped, squinting and blinking. 

“You know,” said Yennefer, “give me time and materials and I could enchant that thing to be bigger on the inside.” She noticed Geralt was trying discreetly to hold her hand and smiled at him but stepped away. Jaskier thought that he looked about ready to pop, and while that was very entertaining he thought he would do him a small kindness. 

“Have we got anything in for dinner?” he asked Geralt, who took a moment to focus on him properly. He was watching Ciri introduce Yennefer to the horses, in helpless adoration. 

“I was going to check the snares,” he said, nodding towards the forest on the other side of the stream. 

“Why don’t you save yourself the bother, and Ciri and I can wander back into town, provided it hasn’t all burnt down, and buy something? Bit of good meat or some sausages. Yennefer looks like she’d enjoy a nice sausage.”

“Don’t be disgusting,” said Geralt, “but  _ thank you.” _

“If you’re going to do it in our bed could you put a towel down?” Jaskier asked quietly. “I don’t want to have to change the sheets again already. Bloody hell, she was right, I am a housewife.”

“No you’re not,” said Geralt, “but you are being very generous and thoughtful. I’m grateful. You know that, don’t you? Not just today, for months, you’ve put everything you want to one side to be here for me and Ciri. You haven’t been able to tour, you only really play for us… I want to tell you it won’t always be this way, but truly I don’t know what it’s going to be like. But I want to try to make sure you get back some of what you want, your career and your ambitions, too.”

“You’ve really been thinking about that, haven’t you?” Jaskier said, surprised and rather moved. “A whole little speech. Thank you, my love, I’m not going to pretend it’s easy but you’re worth it to me, and knowing you don’t take it for granted really helps.” He moved to hug him but Geralt stepped back. 

“If you hug me right now, I am going to have a problem,” he said. “A visible problem. So thank you, and I love you, and please get Ciri out of here.”

She seemed happy to go, and when they were up on the road said, “Thanks for getting me out of there. It was getting annoying. I quite like her but the way he looks at her is just  _ unnecessary _ .”

“One day you may have someone you look at just as unnecessarily, so be charitable,” Jaskier pointed out. 

“Ugh,” said Ciri. “He doesn’t look at  _ you _ like that.”

“Ouch,” said Jaskier. He was getting a hangover and didn’t need to be reminded that he was no longer first in Geralt’s affections. Not that he ever really was, but at least he could feel like it when he had him to himself. 

“No, he does  _ look _ at you, he just doesn’t look like a stunned calf while he does it. He looks like a normal sensible man thinking ‘I’m so glad I found someone this nice to love.’”

“Does he?” Jaskier asked, perking up rather. 

“Of course. Do you really think he’s in love with both of you? How can he be?”

“I’ve been in love with more than one person before,” Jaskier shrugged. “Some people can and some can’t, just like… I don’t know, you know how we can both go like this and Geralt can’t?” He popped his tongue out rolled and Ciri returned the gesture and they both nodded in understanding. “It’s just part of someone’s nature, not how they choose to be. You only choose what you’re going to do about it.”

“Like how you two can both fall in love with men and women?”

“Precisely.”

“I can understand what men see in women and why they would like each other, I guess, but I just do not see what women see in men,” Ciri said airily, picking up a stick and swishing it against the rain-wet hedge as she walked along. 

“Well, maybe you’ll change your mind about that and maybe you won’t, and if you don’t, I hope you’ll bring some nice girl home to meet me.”

“So you don’t think I’m strange?”

“I just think you have good taste; girls are wonderful, and boys are frankly very silly.”

“You like boys though.”

“I like men, and as a former boy myself, I know exactly how silly we were and I rather wonder that any girls thought I was worth their while either. Thankful that they did, obviously.”

“I should think they’d like you because you’re funny and lively and kind,” said Ciri. “That probably compensated for a lot of silliness.”

“It couldn’t have been because of how I did my hair, though I believed that at the time. Look, if it helps, Geralt’s only mooning over her like that because he’s not used to having her around. She’s a nine days’ wonder. I’m sure he’ll settle and be sensible again.”

“I don’t understand about them,” Ciri said. “You two make sense because you were friends for years. Why did they fall in love in the first place?”

“The same reason I fell in love with him, he’s ridiculously good-looking. So’s she for that matter. That’s enough for a start, and then you get to know them better and either love them more or go off them.”

“But she did go off him, and now he’s all nervous and excited that she wants to come back, and you two are trying to be friends and not fight over him.”

“That’s about it.”

“Why did she go off him?”

“I… don’t think I should go into any detail, because it’s private, but suffice it to say that with good intentions and while severely sleep-deprived he did something colossally stupid which really hurt her feelings when she found out about it and made her feel she couldn’t trust him any more, so she dumped him.”

“That’s actually quite detailed, Jaskier. All you left out is the specific stupid thing. And it just sounds as if he cheated, which is awfully disappointing, I thought he was better than that.”

“Cheated with good intentions?”

“Oh, I suppose people don’t do that,” Ciri said, sounding relieved. Jaskier felt he could tell her a thing or two but it wasn’t the time. 

“It’s more that he made a big decision affecting both of them and she didn’t get a say. In fairness to her it  _ was _ pretty clearly a dumping-level offence, although I think what she’d wanted to do was bloody stupid too.”

“What was that?”

“That part’s definitely private, sorry.”

“So you think she’s a stupid person?” Ciri asked, frowning. 

“I think she’s a very clever person indeed who got a bit too obsessed with one thing,” he said judiciously. 

“And you thought he was being stupid too, so where were you in all this?”

“I was deathly ill or unconscious for a lot of it actually, because he and I’d done something  _ else _ stupid, mucking around by a lake. I did try to reason with him when I was able, but alas, you can’t reason with someone who’s just fallen in love. This was ages ago and he wasn’t quite in love with me yet, he was still pretending we weren’t friends. Do you know he only met her because he was trying to get help for me? And she did save my life as a result.”

“It sounds as if there was a lot of stupidity about at the time,” Ciri said. “I hope I don’t behave like that if I fall in love.”

“Bet you will,” said Jaskier, grinning at her. “You’ll just find your own unique personal form of stupid. Maybe you’ll do something idiotic to impress her, maybe you’ll get into a daft fight over her, maybe you’ll write a poem about her beauty and insist on reciting it to her in public while she turns crimson and eventually throws her shoes at you to stop you — oops, that was one of mine. And she was wearing clogs, so they  _ hurt _ .”

She laughed. “I don’t think I’ll commit poetry.”

“I’ll look forward to seeing what you do.”

“So do you think she’ll be around for good, like you are, or will she just visit sometimes?”

“No idea at all, that’s up to her.” A qualm struck him. “Ciri, you do know I’m not necessarily ‘around for good’ the way Geralt is, right? I don’t mean I’d ever leave forever, because I love you both, you’re my little family, but sometimes I might need to take a trip away from you. Possibly a longish trip.” There was only so long you could disappear for before you had to show your face or be presumed dead, after all.

She looked worried. “But then who’s going to stay with me when Geralt goes off on contracts?”

“Eventually he might decide you can go along with him and help. He’s not teaching you for nothing. Or if he thinks you’re not there yet, maybe it’ll be Yennefer.”

“He isn’t trying to get back with her to have another person to help with me, is he? Does he have some idea that he ought to find me a mother?”

“I’d be highly surprised if that was it. He just loves her. He’d be overjoyed if she became part of the family but only if she wants to — and of course you wouldn’t need to call her Mother or anything if you didn’t like. You don’t call Geralt Father or Dad.”

“Unless we’re being Gareth and Fiona in front of people, then I say Father. Don’t forget I’m Fiona in town, you’ve been getting sloppy on that.”

“Right, Fiona. And I shall be Julian if necessary. Or Alfred. Maybe it’s an Alfred sort of day.”

“Do you think he’d like it if I called him Father for real life, not just as a cover?”

Jaskier thought about it. “I’m really not sure. You should ask him. I suppose he’ll be either gruffly delighted or uncomfortable.”

“He does call me his daughter all the time these days, not his Child Surprise. Maybe I’m hurting his feelings, not calling him my father back.”

“You’re not hurting his feelings. If you were he’d grumble to me about it and I’d say ‘Then tell her, not me, you nit.’”

“Like you’re telling me to ask him, not you?”

“A bit, but I’m happy to be a sounding board for you, you know that.”

“Do you feel as if I’m your daughter?” she asked, a question which made him mouth the air like a goldfish. 

“I — I suppose — well, I certainly didn’t to start off with, I felt you were my boyfriend’s daughter who I’d help him take care of because I loved him. Then after a bit I grew to love you properly too. I did once think you might consider me a sort of uncle. I never thought about you being  _ my _ daughter.”

“Oh,” Ciri said in a small voice. She looked disappointed, which rather astonished him, and that seemed to knock loose something that had been stuck in his thinking. 

Jaskier stopped walking. “No, no, wait. I don’t bloody well  _ need _ the Law of Surprise to call you my daughter, do I? That’s why Geralt’s got a right, but it’s not the only way you could have that right, is it? People adopt children or get stepchildren and things like that all the time. I mean obviously it wouldn’t stand up in court, but what difference does that make to us? I could call you my Aunt Dahlia if I wanted to and it was all right by you. Sorry, Ciri, I’m only just realising this now.”

“Well, it’s not as if I could have two fathers really. Three, since I’ve got a birth one and an adopted one, I don’t want to be greedy,” she said with an awkward little laugh. 

“Be as greedy as you like. If you think I’m father number three, or a stepfather, or an emergency back-up dad or something like that, just say the word. It’s what you think that’s important.”

“I don’t know now! I thought it was what  _ you _ thought that counted.”

“Well, I… yes! Why the hell not? I cooked you an egg this morning! I got that praying mantis out of your hair! I carried you home piggyback when you sprained your ankle, I wrote a song for your birthday, I’m proud of you every day and I can’t wait to see what you do with your life. It would be sillier  _ not _ to call you my daughter. Hello, daughter!” 

She rushed in and hugged him round the waist, and he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and rested his chin on her head and felt rather foolish and very fortunate. He hadn’t seen this coming at all; he’d taken it for granted that he probably wasn’t even at uncle level, more of an older friend, and here the dear girl was loving and trusting him in a similar way to Geralt. What if there hadn’t been that lightning strike, he and Yennefer hadn’t stopped, Geralt had found out and it wasn’t all right at all? A dumping-level offence? He wouldn’t just have ruined things with Geralt, he would have hurt Ciri far, far more than he’d thought, if he’d considered it at all. And he hadn’t, really, because he’d been feeling like rejecting all that family life because it was unromantic and unsexy and un-who he’d always felt like. What a selfish, thoughtless twit he’d been. It wasn’t easy and it didn’t all make him happy but it was important in a way that not much else was. And Geralt had been thanking him for being there. His conscience, a generally rather lax entity, reproached him. 

“But is it all right if I still want to call you Jaskier?” Ciri asked his shoulder. 

“Of course it is. We’ll know what we mean, after all. Now, are you  _ sure _ you’re seeing  _ me _ as a father figure here, you’re not just confused because I’m wearing all black?”

“Two fathers means twice the awful silly jokes,” said Ciri, stepping back and smiling up at him. “I should have thought of that.”

“Too late now. Hold your old dad’s hand?” He held it out. 

“You’re my relatively young dad, but yes, at least until we see people.” She took it and they set off walking. 

“Of course! It is my fatherly duty to be embarrassing to my daughter by my mere presence. Don’t worry, I’m not going to push my luck.”

The inn didn’t actually look as bad as he’d thought it might. The roof had burned through enough for the rain to extinguish the fire before it went through the ceiling of the ground floor. It was a terrible mess but it looked like the kind of terrible mess you could probably repair and rebuild. A lot of wet and sooty people were sitting around in the yard having a well-deserved drink from a salvaged barrel. 

“Wow,” said Ciri as they passed by (her arms folded now). “You’re lucky you got out of there. Does Yennefer not know the sort of magic that puts out fires?”

“I think she’s better at starting them, and unfortunately she was quite squiffy at the time and not really capable.”

“Why  _ did _ you two get drunk?”

“Well, um, I’m a bit embarrassed to say it in my new paternal role, but sometimes alcohol just helps you not to be so nervous and makes people more tolerable. Yennefer and I don’t what you might call  _ naturally  _ like each other. For a long time she thought I was a bit of an idiot and an irritant and I thought she was… well, mental, and a bit mean. I think she’s changed a bit, and she sees me a bit differently, but it was still awkward as hell going to see her and try to say, look, can we share this man we both love without a lot of unpleasantness? But the wine helped, so don’t knock it!”

“Ugh,” said Ciri, and rolled her eyes. 

On the basis that he intended to be a fond and indulgent papa (and expected Geralt to do the heavy disciplinary lifting) (and thought it would be a favour to Geralt and Yennefer to keep Ciri out a bit longer) Jaskier told Ciri she could pick out a treat from the sort of second-hand everything shop that this town boasted. She chose a crossbow. 

“I don’t have that much money on me, put it back.” He was buying himself some pants as well, since apparently his own clothes were getting ruined or stolen at an alarming rate.

“Geralt would get it for me.”

“Nice try, put it back.”

After some negotiation she settled on a nice little embossed leather belt pouch with canvas sides that she could unfold to make it bigger, and they moved on to the butcher’s shop. As they walked in, a man walking out gave them an odd look, and when they emerged with a parcel of smoked sausages he was standing there in the street with a couple of friends, frowning. This didn’t look promising, although Jaskier couldn’t think what it might be about. He didn’t think he’d ever been in this town before arriving with Geralt and Ciri so he  _ probably _ hadn’t seduced any of their relatives or dependents, and they were far enough from Cintra that it seemed unlikely someone would recognise Ciri. He could sense her tensing up beside him. It seemed unfair that on the same  _ afternoon _ he decided he was a father he had to rise to this sort of occasion, but he was just going to have to do his best.

“Afternoon,” he said pleasantly, since eye contact was well established and there was no point in pretending not to notice them. 

“Are you that witcher that’s been hanging about?” asked the middle man.

“I — what? Oh. What witcher?” He’d considered “what’s a witcher” but that seemed like playing dumb taken too far. 

“People say they’ve seen one lurking around outside town. That you?”

“Of course not. Do you think any man in black clothes is a witcher?” They didn’t fit him particularly well, and he hoped it wasn’t too obvious they weren’t his own. 

“You could be,” the left-hand man said, shrugging one shoulder. “You’re a stranger. Who else wears all black?”

“Some priests,” said the right-hand man, helpfully. 

The middle man said, “He burnt down the pub.”

“Hang on a minute,” said Jaskier. “The pub got struck by lightning, I was there when it happened.” Their eyebrows went up. “I was there having a drink and being normal, I mean! Do I look like a witcher to you? See any mutations on me?” He spread out his arms to show he wasn’t hiding anything.

“They could be where it doesn’t show,” said the middle man, eyeing his shirt.

“There’s nothing under here but a hairy chest and a big heart, thank you, and why on earth do you think a witcher would burn down your inn? They’re monster hunters, not arsonists.”

“You seem to know a lot about it,” the middle man said suspiciously.

He felt Ciri take hold of his hand. “Dad,” she said, “what are they talking about?”

“It’s all right, Ci— Fiona, this is just a misunderstanding,” he said, and cursed himself for having to remember the name Cifiona now. 

The three men seemed to relax, though. “Can’t be if he’s got a kid with him,” said the one on the left. “I heard where they made them all sterile so they wouldn’t breed.”

“Small mercies,” said the one on the right. Jaskier felt Ciri’s grip on his hand tightening. “Sorry, mate, we were just checking.”

“It was uncanny, you know,” said the middle man. “Just that one bolt of lightning. And my brother-in-law said he saw him in the woods with a dead rabbit.”

“What’s the rabbit got to do with it?” Jaskier asked, honestly at sea now. This was presumably just some confused small town gossip thing. Either the middle man’s brother-in-law was extremely unobservant or extremely bad at descriptions if he hadn’t mentioned certain distinctive features beyond “man in black clothes.” Still, it probably meant they should move on tomorrow.

“He could have been up to something. Witchcraft.”

“Or getting his dinner — they must eat,” said Jaskier. “I shouldn’t worry if I were you. Haven’t you heard the song? A friend to humanity, and all that? Nothing about property damage.” He really wanted to do a bit more of his usual pro-witcher public outreach work, but Ciri was feeling very tense to him and it seemed best to get going. 

“That’s just a song,” said the left-hand man. “My cousin’s wife used to be in service back where they used to live and she said they had a wedding at the big house and a monster turned up to eat the bride and this witcher went after it, smashed the whole place up, took days to clean, and then he had the nerve to ask them to pay him.”

“I heard he seduced the bride too,” said the right-hand man. “Dirty bastard.”

“That sounds like a very far-fetched story,” Jaskier said. “My wife’s waiting for these,” holding up the sausages, “so excuse us. Come on, Cifiona.” He led her away.

They didn’t talk until they were well out of sight of the three men, at the edge of the town. The sun was lowering and the world was golden. “Doesn’t it make you  _ angry?” _ Ciri asked at last. She was still holding his hand.

“It makes me furious. Hearing ignorant people talk such a lot of shit about someone I love makes my blood boil, but Geralt made me promise a long time ago not to get into fights about it on his behalf, at least if he wasn’t there to help me. Are you all right?”

“Yes. Just mad. You’re right, it was a lot of shit.”

“I’d scold you for your language but I really don’t give a shit,” he said, and was relieved to hear her giggle. “I have to say, calling down lightning from the sky to burn down an inn is a new one to me. Usually it’s just a lot of stuff about heartless violence, bringing ill fortune and general creepiness. Watch out for the wicked witcher. A burning hatred of reasonably-priced accommodations and a pint isn’t mentioned.”

“Sorry they didn’t like your song,” said Ciri. 

“Oh, they didn’t say they didn’t  _ like _ it, they just didn’t  _ believe _ it. At least they  _ know _ it.”

“They’d rather believe that tripe about the monster at the wedding.”

“Oh no. That was the funny thing. That story’s completely true, that was Geralt. I was there, he made a spectacular mess, but he also freed two families of a hundred-year curse and saved dozens of lives, not to mention getting quite badly hurt, so he’d earned his pay. Oh, the bride bit’s not true, he didn’t do that.”

“I should hope not!” Ciri thought for a bit. “I suppose the interesting thing  _ and _ the problem with someone like Geralt is there are always going to be more stories to hear, but you’re never going to be completely sure which ones are real, which ones are completely fake and which ones have a bit of truth in them but have got very exaggerated.”

“Or these days, which ones he’s made up to tease you,” said Jaskier.

“I  _ believed _ the one about the haggis.”

“Tell me that one again? I enjoy a good stupid story.” He swung their joined hands between them.

Ciri sighed and smiled at him. “The haggis is a rare, small monster whose meat is prized as a delicacy by some. It’s a fierce, solitary little quadruped which always makes its home at the top of a steep hill. During the day the haggis constantly runs round and round the very peak of the hill, guarding its territory. It always runs in the same direction, so over time it develops legs of different lengths, shorter on the uphill side and longer on the downhill side. This is the key to hunting the wily haggis; it’s death to approach it head on, but if you sneak up behind it and make a noise, it will turn and give chase. Then, because its short legs are now on the downhill side, it will immediately lose its balance and roll down the hill all the way to the bottom, where your partner can quickly pop it into a sack while it’s stunned. For years and years a witcher wandered the world alone, without any trusted companion, so he couldn’t hunt haggis. He always wondered what it would be like, an unmet challenge that nagged at him. Then at last he found True Love and thought that his partner would be able to help him. But there was still just one obstacle: I am messing with you and the haggis doesn’t exist.”

Jaskier laughed. “You tell it as well as he does!”

“Not quite as well. I need a deeper voice.”

“The pitch does lend gravitas to any damn silly thing he says, doesn’t it?”

The sun was setting as they reached the campsite. He’d been mildly concerned that the caravan might still be bouncing on its axles, but all was quiet and Geralt and Yennefer were sitting by the fire looking conspicuously relaxed and happy. She was still wearing his suit, so apparently that was just hers now. He’d steal some of her dresses but he was pretty sure his shoulders were too big for them to fit. Unless of course she’d packed a little strapless number. That seemed like the sort of thing she’d do. Her bag was probably bigger on the inside too; she could have a whole wardrobe with her, and she was  _ still _ wearing his suit. 

_ Am I crosser about the suit than about the boyfriend? Well, I paid for the suit!  _

It was quite a convivial evening. They made and ate dinner together. Yennefer, to Jaskier’s surprise, was quite helpful; it seemed to be part of her approach to befriending Ciri, which was clearly important to her. He wasn’t quite sure yet whether that was a pragmatic consideration, that it was helpful to be on good terms with her lover’s daughter and certainly less nuisance than being on bad ones, or a more kindly one that she wanted Ciri to feel comfortable and not worry that things were going to change in a way that left her out. Maybe she even just genuinely liked Ciri, which of course he thought she should.

“Yen and I have news,” Geralt said when they sat down to eat around the campfire. “She’s going to stay with us for a while.”

“We don’t have room,” Ciri said, then looked embarrassed. “Sorry, Yen, I didn’t mean to be rude, but there are only two bunks in the caravan and mine is a bit small for two people. I suppose someone could sleep on the floor.”

“Bags not,” said Jaskier quickly. Geralt gave him a Look. “Well, I’m  _ not,” _ he said. “So I more  _ constructively _ propose that we add something like a tent to this travelling menagerie.”

“When we can buy the materials to make it, yes,” said Geralt. “Maybe in the town tomorrow we can find some canvas.”

“I don’t think we’d better go in there again,” Jaskier said. He gave a brief outline of their encounter with the three men. “I hope they’re not dumb enough to decide to go out hunting for a suspected witcher in the dark. They didn’t seem brave enough or scared and panicky enough — at the moment they just think something’s fishy, and anything else going wrong around here is going to look like confirmation to them, and then it’ll be rather a hassle. So we’re probably fine overnight, but I vote for pushing on in the morning. It’s time either you or I earned some money again, anyway, and pickings are slim round here.”

Geralt nodded. “Maybe it should be you. You haven’t had a chance to perform in a while.”

“I could sing with you,” said Ciri.

“Your singing is beautiful,” said Geralt, “but you know I don’t want you calling attention to yourself.”

“I know,” she said, deflating a bit. 

“I could help you to disguise yourself,” Yennefer offered. “Short of glamours, there are plenty of ways to make you look different — dyeing your hair, for one thing. You’re too fair to be convincing with dark hair but a light brown or maybe a red — no, red’s attention-getting too.”

“I like my hair, though,” Ciri said. “Can you fix it for me like you were saying, before bed so it doesn’t get all tangled while I sleep?” She was prone to waking up with a haystack head.

“Of course.”

“I was going to say,” said Geralt, “that for tonight at least, the girls could sleep in the caravan and you and I can sleep outside, Jaskier.”

“The girls,” repeated Ciri with a laugh. 

“You know what I mean. It’s a clear night now the rain has passed, and we’ve got a mat to sleep on so you don’t have to be on the wet ground.”

“It’s hardly enticing,” said Jaskier, “but okay, for tonight.” It did mean he got Geralt to himself, he supposed, if not in ideal conditions. “Welcome to… this, Yennefer,” he added.

“Thank you for making me welcome,” she said. 

“Well, Jaskier and I have got news too,” said Ciri. “On our walk into town we decided we’re father and daughter.”

“What do you mean, you decided?” Geralt asked.

“We can decide that if we want.”

“No, I mean why do you need to decide what we all already know?” He looked from Ciri to Jaskier. “Have we not... all been assuming that?”

“Oh, that’s sweet of you!” Jaskier exclaimed. “But no, I absolutely did not assume. Why did you?”

“Because you’re my — you take care of her as much as I do. I couldn’t do this without you. I would never sleep. And she loves you, and you love her, and we’ve become a family, so I don’t know what  _ you _ thought, but as far as I’ve been concerned you’re as much her father as I am.”

“Well, that’s what we worked out today,” said Ciri, “so I guess you were just faster than us.” There was a quiet moment when they just looked at each other in the firelight, and would certainly have drawn together in a triple hug if not for a feeling of awkwardness at excluding Yennefer.

“I am incredibly pleased with today,” said Jaskier. “And it’s not often I can say that about a day that featured a lightning strike and a hangover. I am  _ exhausted.” _

“I had a good one too,” said Yennefer, “and no hangover.”

“I have the three people I love most in the world together with me,” Geralt said. “I couldn’t ask for more.”

“All right, I’m sorry, no, I’m interrupting dinner,” said Jaskier, putting his plate aside on the flat rock he was sitting on. “He’s being adorable; everyone hug Geralt.”

“You don’t have to,” Geralt said, sounding a little alarmed, but they closed in on him and he didn’t struggle. Yennefer gave Jaskier a rather sardonic look over his shoulder, perhaps thinking, not unreasonably, that she didn’t quite belong in a family embrace yet. He raised his eyebrows at her and fluttered his eyelashes, which made her squint in confusion. 

“I think this is enough hug,” said Geralt. “But thank you.”

_ All right, _ Jaskier thought as Geralt wrapped the blanket around them, _ I don’t get to sleep in my own bed but the best part of the bed is out here with me.  _ Geralt kissed the back of his neck and snuggled in close behind him. 

“I still can’t believe you didn’t know,” he murmured. 

“Ciri wasn’t sure either. I’m not the only dummy.”

“Don’t call our daughter dumb.”

“You made a point of saying ‘our daughter,’ I notice.”

“Perhaps I should have said it directly sooner. It just seemed natural to me. And you were the one who volunteered to raise her with me, long before I was ready to face up to it.”

“I wasn’t ready either, you know, I was just loved up and thinking all about the  _ with you _ part.” He interlaced his fingers with Geralt’s and held their joined hands against his chest. “She really surprised me today, but I was happy. Never thought I’d be so happy to be called someone’s father. She asked me an interesting question, though; whether I thought you were trying to find her a mother.”

“Ah,” said Geralt. 

“She didn’t say anything negative like ‘I don’t need a mother,’ but she thought that might be why you brought Yennefer in. I told her it was just because you loved her.”

“It is, but…”

“It is, but you were sitting watching them while she was braiding Ciri’s hair and I’ve never seen you look so sentimental. You’re casting her in that role in your mind, aren’t you?”

“Yen dearly wants to be a mother,” Geralt said, but then admitted, “I don’t know if she would be satisfied with bringing up someone else’s child who’s already half grown. Maybe she wants her own baby. I can never give her that.”

“But if she wanted to become Ciri’s mother, you’d be happy, right?”

“I would never stop needing or wanting you. But yes. I’d be happy if she wanted to join us.”

“I would just like to point out how far you’ve come from the man who sat grumpily in a tub still smelling faintly of selkiemore guts, trying to drink beer and denying that he needed anyone or wanted to be needed. While still caving in to my entirely unreasonable demands for help. And letting me dress him up. You were actually quite soft on me even then, weren’t you?”

“You know the answer to that,” Geralt said with a kind of contented rumble. 

“And here you are building a family.”

“With you.” Another soft kiss on his neck. 

“You still smell of selkiemore guts sometimes, which is reassuring; not everything changes.”

“I still drink beer in the bath, too, when I can.” 

“I wonder how Yennefer‘s going to take to our bathing arrangements.” They had a wooden tub that was just big enough for a satisfactory basic wash, if not a really soothing soak, and it got strapped to the roof of the caravan when they moved on. 

“That might just make her leave me. I hope not. Good night, then.”

“Good night, love.”

They lay quietly for a little while, Jaskier comforted by Geralt’s deep, steady breathing, the hard ground under the mat and the blanket not all  _ that _ bad, and the stars and moon silvery bright overhead. He’d told the truth when he said he was exhausted, but it was hard to sleep. Now that everything was still, things he hadn’t been thinking about, things that were uncomfortable to think about, started poking at him. Especially the fact that he had pretty much boasted to Yennefer about what an honest relationship he and Geralt had. 

“Geralt?”

“Hmm?”

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

“Masleep.”

“I think it’s important. I don’t know how you’re going to feel about it but I’m worried.”

“Hrrmm. All right. What?”

“Maybe it’s all right but I don’t know and I shouldn’t have done anything not knowing.”  _ Please may this not be how I ruin things.  _ “You know when Yennefer and I were at the inn, and we had a lot to drink.”

“You should call her Yen.”

“Not ready to. We had a lot to drink, because we weren’t comfortable with each other, and we got perhaps too comfortable with each other, a bit frisky, and the fact is I kissed her. And she kissed me back. I hasten to add.”  _ Stop talking, stop talking. You’ll make it worse. Give him time to react to the first bit. _

“You’re worried?” Geralt asked drowsily. 

“Well, yeah, you never gave me permission to do that.”

“You have my permission to kiss anyone you want, just don’t rub my nose in it.”

“I’m not rubbing your nose, I was afraid you were going to feel — is this not different because it’s Yennefer?”

“I… had assumed you might when you went to talk to her. Because it’s you.”

“Oh. And I hadn’t asked for permission because I didn’t think it was on the table.”

“Seems there’s more things I thought we both understood.”

“I mean, as long as I’m confessing, we stopped kissing because the inn was struck by bloody lightning. If that hadn’t happened, I was going to — well, I’d already decided for  _ my _ part we were going to fuck. Is that not a problem?”

“You were ready to fuck her but not ready to call her Yen. That might be a problem. Feels wrong way round.”

“Geralt, are you really awake?”

“Hold still, hold still.” Geralt rolled over and clambered astride him on elbows and knees, and kissed him. “I’m awake. It’s not a problem. And Yen already told me.”

“Oh.”

“While you were out with Ciri. Told me as a funny story. Not a confession. I can’t believe  _ you _ are so worried about cheating.” 

“She was making fun of me?” Jaskier asked, rather wounded. 

“You and herself.” A soft, sweet, heavy kiss, slipping his tongue between Jaskier’s lips and stroking soothingly. “If you can get to the point of liking her without the help of wine, it could get better.”

“I like you, completely unassisted, so much.” He still didn’t know how he felt about Yennefer, but Geralt’s response was a great relief. 

“Let’s get some sleep, then, unless you have some other shock to deliver.”

“I don’t think so.” 

“Good.” He settled down behind him once again, arms wrapped around him, with a contented sigh. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Attribution: The stoat and weasel joke was told to me 26 years ago by a girl called Natalie and I have never forgotten it. It floored me. I heard the haggis story from my late grandfather Derek.


	8. Three in a Tent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Building a stronger friendship and a greater intimacy, although there are misgivings along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should stress that I really have no concept of an ongoing plot for this, also that I have only a fairly tenuous grasp of an idea of Yennefer's personality. I will file this under "making something up that I find agreeable, whatever."
> 
> Oh, and I have no idea about the zoology of monsters in Witcher-world! What rules do their vampires follow? I don't know! Vampires are all about rules. 
> 
> Normally I would feel it behooved me to do more research into these things, would even enjoy the prospect of spending some time finding out, but do you know what? It's early November 2020. My brain is held together with tape. All of our brains are held together with tape. I'm watching _My Little Pony_ in another window as I write, I don't have the bandwidth to rewatch _The Witcher_ and try to be consistent. I hope that one day we can all look back on this extremely weird and difficult time from a much better place, but until then, here's this.

The next day they struck camp and moved on, passing through the town early in the morning when few people were around. By habit, Geralt rode alongside on Roach while Jaskier sat behind Trout pretending he knew what to do with the reins (Trout actually took her lead for where to go from Roach, and they all knew it but chose not to address Jaskier’s general benign uselessness around horses) and before too long gave up the pretence and either idly played his lute and sang, or wrote lyrics and half-formed ideas in a notebook. Ciri roved around, sometimes sitting companionably with Jaskier, or clambering up onto the roof to ride there, or clambering out onto Trout’s broad back and practising balancing standing up. Yennefer didn’t yet have a habitual spot. She spent a while riding on the roof with Ciri, then a while more riding just in front of Geralt in the saddle, which presumably made him deliriously happy. After they had stopped to water the horses, to Jaskier’s mild surprise, she climbed up to sit beside him as they set off again.

“This is a bit boring,” she whispered once they were under way. 

“Sitting in Geralt’s lap not doing it for you after a while?” 

“No, that was quite enjoyable, but the poor man’s balls must be ultramarine. I decided to give him a break.”

Jaskier smothered a laugh. “Well, that’s kind of you. As is letting me have my clothes back today.” She was wearing a fairly simple silvery-grey dress with gauzy batwing sleeves. The jacket of his suit still smelled like her perfume.

“I might want to borrow them again. Geralt likes how I look in your suit very, very much. Although no buttons were ripped off.”

“Well, I’m sure he feels he needs to be more gentle with a delicate flower like you. We shouldn’t talk like this when Ciri’s about.”

She sighed. “I know. How do you refrain from swearing in front of her?”

“Oh, we don’t. That’s all right, swear away. Not  _ at _ her.”

“No, of course not. So what  _ happens?” _

“We travel around and sooner or later there’s a monster. Really a surprising lot of them about in rural areas. Or there’s an uncanny mystery. Or some gratuitous violence. We just generally keep our eyes peeled for phenomena.”

“And if it’s a slow day for phenomena?”

“Then I feel grateful for a peaceful day with people I love… and I feel awfully bored and wish I could somehow have this but also get back to my real life. You know? I know it wouldn’t actually  _ work _ because he  _ is _ his job, but I have these daydreams where we move to a city, somewhere well-located, healthy climate, thriving local arts scene, and we find a nice house and he’s my kept man and, I don’t know, maybe he writes books about monsters or something. Or gives children riding lessons. Or he’s an artists’ model. And Ciri grows up safely and has a nice time and plenty of friends. We hold parties. Maybe we have a cat. My songs are on everyone’s lips. We’re so well dressed in these daydreams, I know you’d approve.”

“Would there be room for me too?” she asked. 

“There certainly could be. Any good daydream can be adjusted to fit.”

“Then I’ll have an elegant little shop where I sell bespoke love potions, performance enhancers, perfumes and so on. That’s what I was doing not long before you met me, before that petty little man decided to crack down on witchcraft and general naughtiness. It was nice, I felt like I was helping people,” she said wistfully, leaving him wondering how on earth one swung from wanting to help people with love problems to the outlandishly creepy stuff she’d been up to “not long” afterwards. “Yes, that’s what I’ll do, but no one will interfere. I’ll be above mundane authorities. And I’ll have — no, whoops, nearly made myself sad. I’ll live next door to your nice house and have my own guests and parties when I feel like it, and sometimes you’ll be invited and sometimes you will not. I’ll be independent and sought-after and have the greatest power of all, the power to please oneself.”

“Just quietly,” said Jaskier, “I’ve heard one can do that with one’s fingers.”

“What a grubby little mind you have. That must be why I’m beginning to like you.”

“ _ And _ I’m nice.”

“Nice is boring. If you just tried to be nice all the time I’d despise you. I might put poison in your porridge.”

“Then I promise I will never be merely nice to you.”

“And I you.” She paused. “You’re not really doing anything to this horse, are you?”

“I have no idea how she works. I just try to feed her apples and carrots so she’ll like me and not step on me with her huge feet. I also sing to her. I think she’d like to hear my current work in progress.”

The day passed uneventfully, until they chose a spot to camp in the afternoon rather than press on into rougher terrain near the end of the day. Geralt, to Jaskier’s disappointment, decided as evening drew on that the two of them were going to sleep outside again, mostly because he was happy Yennefer and Ciri seemed to be getting on so well. Ciri offered to sleep out by the fire instead and was told certainly not. 

“You never let me do anything,” she said. 

“I let you do a handstand on the back of a moving horse just this afternoon.”

“She was only walking and she’s as wide as a house.”

“Stop and think about what sort of father would let his young daughter sleep under the stars, unprotected, in an area which to his certain knowledge is the habitat of vampires.” He pointed towards the mountain they had been approaching for most of the day just as a flock of bats very helpfully and dramatically flew out of a cave on its side, black against the sunset sky. 

Ciri sighed. “A pretty slack one. Okay.”

“Hey! You didn’t tell me there were vampires,” said Jaskier, who had been laying out his bedroll and was now seriously reconsidering. 

“You’ll be fine,” said Geralt dismissively, “I’ll be with you the whole time.”

“Says the man who has multiple vampire bite scars on his body!”

“Exactly, scars. I survived every time,” said Geralt reasonably. 

“I don’t want to  _ survive,  _ I want to not be bitten!”

“You won’t be,” said Geralt, “they would have to bite through me to reach you. See? Living shield.” He wrapped his arms around Jaskier from behind, pushing his head down so he could put his chin on top. “Like a silver spoon.” Ciri groaned and ran away. 

“You are horrible and your jokes are worse,” said Jaskier, trying not to laugh. 

“Because I would  _ spoon _ you and silver repels vampires,” Geralt said happily. 

“Awful,” said Jaskier, failing and giggling. 

“Then why are you laughing?”

“I have terrible taste.” He tried to wriggle away and couldn’t, but this counted as a hug and he was enjoying it as such. “Seriously now, you don’t really think anything will fly down to eat us, do you?”

“There’s a small risk. About as bad as the risk of a bear or the like. Unacceptable risk for Ciri, acceptable for you and me.”

“Have you got any bear bite scars?”

“No. It couldn’t bite through my armour before I managed to stab it, up under the ribs.”

“Of  _ course _ you’ve fought a bear.”

“Werebear, but it counts.” Geralt gave him a final squeeze and released him. 

“Now I’m going to lie there wondering about bears were and otherwise, as well as vampires,” Jaskier said, straightening his jacket which had been rumpled up by the outburst of affection. “You may have to reassure me further.”

“If it comes to that.”

There were, as it turned out, no vampires, bears, or anything but an owl with a lot to say. Eventually it pissed off and left them in quietness. Geralt lay breathing softly at his back, one arm lying warm and heavy over his body, and Jaskier wished he could do the same. He was in the annoying position of understanding exactly why he felt as he felt and still feeling that way unabated. Yes, seeing Geralt cheerful and even jokey (above and beyond the deadpan jokes that he had always been given to, it was just that since Ciri they were less sarcastic and more silly) was disconcerting. No, he did not want Geralt to feel less happy or relaxed. Clearly, he was disconcerted because he didn’t get to feel this level of good cheer was due solely to his presence and his love. Equally clearly, Geralt had not given him any reason to feel unwanted and had been sensitive enough to see he needed reassurance on that point (as well as intermittent werebear risk assessments while they were getting ready for bed, which had been fairly sarcastic too). There was no need in the world to lose sleep over any of it, but here he was. 

He only knew he’d gone to sleep when at some stage of the night he was woken again by Geralt gently shaking his shoulder. 

“Fuckofffff,” he mumbled. 

“Wake up. Something we want you to see.”

“We who?”

“Yen and me.”

Jaskier whined faintly, but he opened his eyes and lifted his head. Yennefer was standing a few paces away, bathed in moonlight, wearing a loose silk wrapper. She held her forefinger to her lips in an exaggerated shush. Her other hand flourished a white handkerchief; she shook it out, tossed it in the air and let it settle on the ground, then lifted her hand high. A white tent rose from the ground. 

“If you had one of those why didn’t you get it out sooner?” he asked. “I’m sleeping on the ground in my clothes.”

“Don’t be a baby,” Geralt said. He was propped up on one elbow, gazing at Yennefer with the greatest admiration. 

“I didn’t have it earlier,” Yennefer said. “I’ve been sitting up in bed enchanting it, after Ciri went to sleep. For your information, no sound escapes this tent.” She slipped between the door flaps and disappeared, then popped her head back out. “You can come too, Jaskier. No spiders.”

“Come on,” said Geralt, slapping him on the bottom and getting up. Jaskier disentangled himself from the blanket, which tried to trap his legs, and followed him a step or two behind. 

Yennefer had told the truth about being able to make a space bigger on the inside than on the outside; he’d assumed she meant just a bit bigger or that it would  _ look _ bigger, the way you could make a room seem more spacious with mirrors on the wall, but no — the tent had looked from the outside as if a couple of people could sleep comfortably in it on the floor, but this was a substantial room with a real bed in it, the sheets nicely turned down, big enough for two or three, and lamps and candles, of whose light there had been no sign from outside. Real magic. For a fuck tent. He couldn’t say his priorities would have been any different if he’d been a mage instead of a bard. 

In the middle of the floor Geralt was standing with his arms around Yennefer, kissing her tenderly and joyfully. She had pulled his shirt out of his waistband to stroke his bare back with both hands. Jaskier tried to  _ consider  _ his mixed feelings rather than just feel them; he felt such  _ love _ seeing Geralt’s face as he kissed her, the way he looked at her from under his dark lashes, the way his lips moved against hers with the occasional glimpse of his tongue. And it didn’t feel, at the moment at least, as if she was taking Geralt away from him, just that  _ he _ was letting him be with her for now and could expect Geralt to come back. He wasn’t sure yet what he was feeling about Yennefer, it was a peculiar mixture of natural physical attraction (because look at her), reservations as to her temperament and a general, somewhat libidinous hopefulness, perhaps with a few other things he couldn’t pin down in the mix.

He did, however, feel like the gooseberry standing here by himself with nothing particular to do. 

Yennefer pulled back a bit from Geralt, let him duck in for one more kiss and then put her finger to his lips, pressing him back. “Now. So you don’t worry, you see that bell hanging by the door? If anyone enters or leaves the caravan, that will ring and you’ll know. So unless you hear it ring, I want you to forget about everything outside this tent and enjoy what we can do inside. And go and kiss Jaskier, he looks forlorn.”

“I’m not forlorn, I — mmph.” Geralt strode straight over to him and kissed him deeply, holding his face between his palms, stroking his cheeks and then his temples and his hair. Jaskier wrapped his arms around his waist and pressed up to him as tight as he could, sucking Geralt’s tongue and feeling him grunt softly in his throat. He slid his hands down and squeezed his buttocks and felt his cock shift against his body.  _ That _ was better. 

“Yen and I wanted to talk to you about something we might want to do,” Geralt said, drawing back. “Just an idea.”

_ All right, they’re going to suggest a threesome, I didn’t expect it so soon but it sounds as if he’s keen to have us both together — and maybe she’s still interested sober?  _ He was going to say, “I’m game for anything,” but Yennefer spoke first, stepping up beside Geralt with her hand on his shoulder, as if she were just casually emphasising that he was hers too.

“Here’s the thing,” she said. “One of my favourite things is to watch or be watched. Geralt and I were talking yesterday about shared fantasies. He admitted his aren’t all that imaginative but he thought you’d mentioned something about wanting an audience. Would an audience of one be nice?”

“My mind has just gone blank,” Jaskier said truthfully. “Can we just, um, can we confer a moment? If you don’t mind?”

“I don’t mind,” said Yennefer, standing there and smiling pleasantly.

“I mean would you wait outside, please?”  _ You baggage. You’re still going to wind me up even if you do want me. Geralt’s allowed to give me shit because I know he loves me and that’s part of how he shows it. You, I don’t know yet. _

“Oh, of course. You only have to ask, silly,” she said, and sauntered out. 

When the door flaps had swung together Jaskier said, “All right, on one hand that is  _ absolutely _ one of my biggest fantasies and I’m very touched you remembered it. On the other, that fantasy is definitely about  _ me _ fucking  _ you _ for an adoring audience. It’s like you’re the instrument I play and the reactions I get out of you are the music. Do you want Yennefer to see you like that? If you do and that’s why you’re offering,  _ great _ , but if not I need to know so I don’t embarrass you horribly.”

Geralt looked sheepish. “I was going to ask if we could do that but you’d let me be on top. Would it be good that way, or not enough like your fantasy?”

“It’d be pretty different but definitely good. Do you want to sort of block out what we’re going to do, or just improvise?”

“You want to do it?”

“I — Geralt, we have spent  _ several _ weeks furtively blowing each other behind trees in the dark, and now I am being offered the opportunity to be fucked by you in a big comfy bed by candlelight.  _ Yes _ , I want to do it.”

“Right. I think we can improvise.”

“Are you going to toss your hair around a bit?” Jaskier asked, smiling. 

“As much as I actually need to, to keep it out of my face.”

“That’s why I pull your hair tie out the first chance I get.”

“Have you done this before? Like a performance?”

“I’m flattered you think I might have. No, the closest I’ve done is threesomes where for part of the time one of us had a rest and watched the other two till they were ready to join in again. Just think of it like that.”

“I haven’t done that,” said Geralt, as if it should be obvious. 

“I didn’t want to un-flatter you by assuming. Wait, one last thing,” he said as Geralt turned towards the door. “Are you wanting to do this mostly because you think it’ll be fun for me and her, or is it equally for you?”

“Just repeat back to yourself the part you said about the blowing and the dark and the bed. Sums it up.” He gave Jaskier one last deep, hard kiss and went to the door. “Yen, we’re ready for you.”

“Good, I thought I was being left out for Jaskier’s werebears,” said Yennefer, ducking back in. 

“They’re not  _ my _ werebears, they don’t do my  _ bidding.” _

“Yen,” said Geralt gently. “Don’t tease him too much, he’s got limits.”

“Really? Where?”

“Well,” said Jaskier, “I’m just going to take the high road and say, Yennefer, thank you very much for arranging this, it looks very comfortable, I’m sure I’m going to have a lovely time, and it could only be better if we could have a hot bath first.”

“Oh, yes,” said Yennefer. She made a sort of sliding gesture with one hand and a tub seemed to slide into existence at their side. It was long and deep and full of lightly steaming water. “Go on.” Another gesture slid an armchair into view, and she seated herself comfortably, resting her head on one hand.

“I won’t even ask questions, I’ll just enjoy it.” 

“That’s right — just do as you would if I weren’t here,” said Yennefer.

This seemed to give Geralt a mild form of stage fright; he glanced from one to the other and hesitated. 

“Come on,” said Jaskier, taking his hand. “This is something you know how to do so well.” He pulled him close and gave him a leisurely kiss and felt him begin to relax. His eyes still had a tendency to drift in Yennefer’s direction, but he chose to interpret that as just slight self-consciousness. Yennefer was distracting, but he had the advantage of touch and taste. She had made a good start untucking Geralt’s shirt at the back; he tugged the rest of it out and in between kisses pulled it off over his head. Seeing Geralt take off a shirt was always a joy. He dropped it and helped Jaskier out of his, moving on to undo his pants and push them down. The general awkwardness of getting each other out of trousers made them both laugh a little, and that smoothed the shift into nakedness. 

Jaskier threw his arms around Geralt’s shoulders, pressing eager kisses into his mouth. “Come on, in the tub. We’ll be quick. Just a quick wash of any stuff I might want to kiss, lick or suck. Come on.” The water was warm and the soap was slick and rich and the quick wash became increasingly thorough. Right at the back of his mind he wondered if seeing the two of them stand in the water and kiss while tugging each other’s soapy cocks was quite what Yennefer had in mind, but really didn’t care. One hand for the cock and one to grope and squeeze and rub between the buttocks worked so nicely. 

“Do you want to come now, or save it till I’m inside you?” Geralt asked him. 

“Oh, inside me.  _ Deep _ inside me.”

“Then that’s enough time in the bath. Dip down and get all that soap off.” His voice was down in that lowest register that made Jaskier feel very pleasantly weird and flustered and happy to be obedient in a yes-daddy sort of way. Because the tent seemed to be full of perfect things, the towels were warm as if they’d just been aired in front of a fire, and he thought for a second Geralt might pick him up and carry him to bed. Instead of which he put his hands on Jaskier’s shoulders and walked him over in front of him and pushed him gently but firmly down and kissed, then lightly nipped the back of his neck, which made him gasp and squirm.  _ Oh fuck he’s doing very gentle but very dominant I love when he gets like this. Is he going to do it with me bent over the side of the bed like this? _

He felt Geralt’s hands on his bottom as if that was what he had in mind, but then heard him say, “No, get up on the bed,” giving him another push. He crawled on and rolled onto his back, reaching up to wrap his arms around Geralt as he climbed on over him and kissed him wolfishly, his tongue working roughly against Jaskier’s, until he was panting and whining a little for more. 

Geralt bent his head to whisper by his ear, “Good so far?”

“So good. I want you in me.”

“Yen?” Geralt raised his head. “Do you have any kind of oil or lotion —”

“Drawer by the bed,” Jaskier heard her say. He’d half forgotten her; it seemed a little ungracious to ignore her and not even try to put on a show, and they weren’t on a good angle with their heads towards her, but Geralt was so much more interesting. He watched him reach across to the drawer; from the way his eyebrows twitched briefly up Jaskier wondered what was in there besides the bottle of oil he took out. Yennefer seemed like the type to have an impressive bordering on intimidating dildo collection. Geralt returned to kissing him, though, until his lips were tingling from the rasp of his stubble, then moved to kiss his neck and at long last put his hand back on Jaskier’s cock. Jaskier exhaled deeply, feeling a pulse throb in his groin, and tipped back his head to invite more kisses to the sensitive places at the base of his neck. The kisses grew into nipping and sucking, kneading a pinch of skin between Geralt’s teeth and tongue until it burned and he soothed it with long, soft licks. His oiled hand slid up and down the shaft of Jaskier’s cock and pulled low moans out of him. 

Normally he would have been talking all about how it felt and what he wanted Geralt to do but having an audience was actually inhibiting him a little. “Please…” he murmured. 

“Hmmm?”

“Please fuck me.”

“Not yet.”

“Whyyyy?”

“You’re not desperate yet,” Geralt said, with a hint of a smile. 

“You don’t know that.”

“I know you. One good thing about knowing you that well is I know just how it looks and sounds when you’re going to come — and just before that, which is where I’ll stop so you have to wait.”

“You total bastard.”

“It’ll be better this way. Think how hard you’ll come with all that pressure behind it.”

“Pleeeease… it doesn’t need to be that hard, it’ll be so good just like this.”

“No, I’m taking care of you. You’ve been so patient for so long, you deserve the best I can give you.” He gave him a very soft, sweet kiss while playing with the head of his cock, tickling the slit with the tip of his finger as it wept precum.

“Are you being cruel to be kind?”

“Exactly.”

“You are  _ so  _ cruel.”

“And you’re taking it so passively, so…”

“Please…” Jaskier whimpered, pushing up into Geralt’s hand. 

“How’s this?” He started a brisk rub with a tight grip that made Jaskier gasp as the pleasure rushed up, then stopped and took his hand away entirely just when it was getting almost perfect. 

“Oh gods, you’re so me-he-hean.”

“I’m denying myself too. I’m so hard it almost hurts.” That was a deep murmur beside his ear and he bit his lip at the warm tickle of Geralt’s breath and the buzz and burr of his voice. 

“Good, it serves you right.”

“When your heart’s slowed down a little I’ll reconsider.”

“Bastard,” he breathed. 

“No one’s ever called me a bastard with such love in their eyes. So take a deep breath… slow it down… that’s good.”

“Bastard, swine, arsehole,” said Jaskier, retaliating in the only way he could think of just now by pulling out Geralt’s hair tie. Geralt only kissed him as his hair spilled down and brushed Jaskier’s cheeks.

“Just went up again,” Geralt murmured.

“Fucker,” said Jaskier, adoringly.

“Brat.” He slid his fingers down and between Jaskier’s buttocks, running them up and down the cleft. 

“Yes yes yes yes.” He drew up his legs and caught his breath as he felt Geralt’s fingertip wiggling against his anus, making it tingle and twitch. Then one long, thick finger was sliding deep into him and his back arched as his head rocked back and he moaned sharply. “Oh, Geralt,  _ yes, _ that’s what I need, that feels  _ so _ good…”

“I just thought of something,” he heard Yennefer say, out of sight. Then it sounded as if heavy rain was falling on the tent, lashing down. “Does that enhance the mood for you, Jaskier?”

He twisted his neck, trying to see her; she was curled up in her chair looking flushed and pretty, completely different from her icy masked composure the first time he’d seen her, and he beamed at her. “That’s wonderful!” He looked back up at Geralt. “How does that make  _ you _ feel, my love?” As an answer, Geralt kissed him again, pushing his finger deeper, curling and flexing it, and he shuddered with the pleasure of it. “Oh, I’m going to get fucked so  _ hard,  _ aren’t I?” The only answer was another long kiss with a soft, deep grunt at the back of it, as Geralt stroked and rubbed, easing his tightness and twitches. After a minute more he shifted his body, kneeling just below Jaskier’s upturned bottom, holding his hips and gazing down at him. His hair was hanging half over his face and he swept it back with one hand and a small shake of his head. His cock was jutting up with its head plum-red, and he poured glistening oil over it before gripping Jaskier’s hips again and rubbing it firmly up and down between his buttocks, nudging against his balls. 

“I think you’re ready,” he said. “What do you say?”

_ “Please _ fuck me.”

“Of course I will.” He eased in and had to stop halfway to breathe deeply, his eyes fluttering closed. Jaskier was mostly thinking  _ big!  _ and  _ full!  _ and  _ (almost ow)  _ but had enough presence of mind to feel proud that he evidently felt that good to enter. After a moment Geralt slid in fully with a long, deep sigh, then bent low to kiss Jaskier. “Good?” he breathed. 

“You’re doing so many things I love just for me, and I love you so much,” Jaskier whispered back. 

“Love you.” One more kiss, and he reared up and began slowly, deeply thrusting. That part, Jaskier thought, was the first thing that seemed like it was for Yennefer’s benefit, to let her have a good look at him. Normally Geralt would stay hunched down on top of him for the sake of kissing and general rubbing together. It was  _ nice _ to see him display himself more, even if it meant less kissing; it was just funny to think it was Yennefer watching that made such a difference. He wasn’t looking at Yennefer, though, his eyes were still on Jaskier, burning gold.  _ I love a man who looks at me like he both loves me and wants to  _ eat  _ me.  _ He’d had the words pushed right out of him and could only look up at him in awe and joy, gasping faintly with each thrust.  _ He’s so fucking gorgeous and he’s  _ for me. Geralt was breathing deeply, roughly, and his head tipped back and his fingers dug into Jasker’s hips and dragged down his thighs as he moaned. 

“Feels good?” 

_ “Tight,” _ said Geralt fervently.

_ “Big,” _ said Jaskier, squeezing him. “Ah…” Geralt got his hands back under his thighs and hitched him up higher, which made him feel mildly like a wheelbarrow but in a sexy way. He crossed his legs behind Geralt’s back and bucked up against him, clutching the sheets under him with both hands. The awe was passing as the pleasure and the urge to thrust grew together. Geralt caught his breath and tossed his hair back and pumped his hips faster. Any thought of keeping up a show was clearly fading from his mind; he hunched over and planted his hands on Jaskier’s upper arms, pinning them down, and kissed him roughly and wetly. “Come on,” Jaskier panted, “fuck me harder. Oh!” The pressure and friction together were growing so sweet and sharp he could only gasp and moan, his heart was pounding, and he felt wonderfully crushed under Geralt’s hot, heavy, sweating body. The orgasm seemed to shoot from his prostate straight up his spine, lifting him off the bed in a spasm of delight, and dropped him with a thump, dazed and giddy and ecstatic. Geralt was still fucking desperately into him, and he was mentally floating in pink and gold clouds of love and pleasure, and then Geralt was losing his rhythm entirely, grinding deep into his core and holding there as he came. 

Geralt rocked to a stop, moaning faintly, and put his head down beside Jaskier’s, panting on his shoulder. Jaskier lifted a hand to stroke his hair and heard him hum, almost purr, which made him laugh weakly and squirm to free his arms from Geralt’s grip and hug him properly. They clung together and Geralt kissed his cheek and rumbled, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. What a  _ polite _ thing to say after fucking me into heaven and back to earth.”

“Need anything else?”

“Totally satisfied. Any more now would be too much.”

“Can I stay in you a while longer?”

“As I said before, you’re welcome.”

Geralt sighed contentedly, and they both fell quiet, surrounded by the sound of rain. 

The hush was broken by a patter of applause from Yennefer, whose presence Jaskier had completely forgotten. Probably Geralt had too, because he cleared his throat and looked vaguely embarrassed, not that it was easy to tell with the post-orgasmic flush in his face. 

Jaskier tipped back his head to try to see her and said, beaming, “Thank you! You’ve been a wonderful audience. But if you want an encore you’re out of luck for at least, oh, twenty minutes.”

“It was all right, then?” Geralt asked, lifting his head. 

“I think that’s the essence of the two of you,” she said thoughtfully. “Jaskier accepts and enjoys the applause as his due, Geralt is still not quite sure I liked it.”

“I know — he’s got so much to have self-esteem about, too,” Jaskier said, stroking Geralt’s hair back from his face. 

“Well, I’m sure Jaskier liked it, I think it’s reasonable to confirm it with you,” said Geralt. “For a first try.”

“Any review you’d care to give?” Jaskier asked. “Going easy on my blushing ingenu here, obviously.”

“But he was wonderful. All right, so…” she said, steepling her fingers thoughtfully. “I enjoyed the intensity of your focus on each other. That felt very romantic. You’re both great fun to look at, obviously — Jaskier, you are hairier than I’d expected, that’s not a criticism, just a mild surprise. Also pickier about cleanliness.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I keep telling you, you’re fussy about that,” said Geralt. 

“No, it’s a good thing, I wish more men were a bit fussier.”

“She’s calling you smelly,” said Jaskier. 

“I am not,” said Yennefer. 

“I don’t care,” Geralt said, “Jaskier calls me smelly all the time and I can only think from the way he treats me that he likes it.”

“I’ll remind you that when we met I tried to compliment you on your evocative smell and you said it was onion so I gave up.”

“You gave up? That’s the one thing you gave up on, trying to compliment my smell? You followed me around all day, trying to get up on my horse with me, making a nuisance of yourself, at one point I’m pretty sure you tried to hold my hand, you got kidnapped and nearly died yet you ended up writing a song about me and pursuing me off and on for years — but you gave up on the smell?”

“Well, you were right, weren’t you, Onion Man?”

“And this,” said Yennefer, “the kind of affectionate bickering that breaks out — this is completely different from how he is with me. I don’t like that much talking for myself, not in the middle of things, but you clearly do and I think it’s very sweet how Geralt adapts to it. The whole thing was very different from how he is with me — he’s much more… hmm… worshipful?”

“Which is perfectly all right if you like that sort of thing,” said Jaskier, “but I like this sort of thing.” He kissed Geralt on the nose and added, “But this sort of thing needs to get off me now, he’s getting too heavy.”

Geralt eased off and out of him, looking embarrassed again; it was clearer now that his face was less red to begin with. He didn’t seem to know where or how to sit or lie down now, and after a moment, with a gruff “Excuse me,” he got off the bed and went back to the bath to clean himself up.

“Good man, bring me back a towel,” said Jaskier, rolling onto his front. He propped his chin on his folded arms and looked at Yennefer properly. “So you’ve enjoyed yourself, clearly. Any other notes?”

“Yes, both the sounds and the faces you make are highly… individual but endearing.”

“Thanks?”

“I like his faces,” Geralt said loyally, from the bath. “Especially the starry eyes.”

“I liked them too — but no offence, Jaskier, I wasn’t watching you that closely. Geralt was both easier to see and more appealing to me.”

“And no offence, Yennefer, but I think that’s exactly how I’d watch the two of you.”

“You may have difficulty, because I strongly prefer to be on top.”

“That’s a coincidence, so do I.” It wasn’t really true, he was just feeling a bit competitive and bantering, but he heard a little splash from behind him and wondered if he’d messed up. Oh well, act like it was nothing, Geralt would admit his proclivities sooner or later. “Weren’t we considerate to arrange ourselves as we did? Well, not really we, Geralt sort of did the arranging for us both. I suspect him of wanting to show off for you.”

“I don’t show off,” Geralt said wearily. 

“Oh?” purred Yennefer. “Then all that tossing of your hair was… what exactly?” 

“Nooooo,” said Jaskier, “do you know how long it took me to coax him into flaunting his hair for me? You’ll make him shy.”

“I’m not shy,” Geralt said. From the slight reverberation on his voice it sounded like he had sunk down low in the tub. “I don’t understand your thing about my hair anyway.”

“Seriously?” Jaskier rolled over and sat up to look at him. “Because it’s beautiful, dummy. Especially when it’s a little damp and it gets all wavy. Like now.”

“But it’s grey,” said Geralt, as if the drawback were obvious.

“Wait, what? Do you think the man who wrote an entire  _ cycle _ of songs celebrating the  _ White Wolf _ thinks grey hair is unattractive? I keep forgetting you’ve never met any of my old boyfriends. Then you’d be aware of my penchant, shall we say, for the silver fox.”

“So they’re literally old boyfriends?” Yennefer asked, smirking. 

“Well, not  _ elderly, _ just… a fair few of them have been  _ mature, _ let’s say.”

“You were attracted to me because I looked  _ old?” _ Geralt asked.

“You’re both ganging up on me and wilfully misinterpreting what I say.”

“Yes,” said Yennefer. “It’s fun.”

“You don’t look  _ old. _ I think grey hair looks distinguished and sexy. And I’m allowed! So having cleared that up, do you accept that your hair is a highly attractive feature?”

“I accept you like it, but I still feel stupid tossing it about the way you want me to. It’s… girly.”

“Give me strength. This from a man who maintains shoulder-length hair and wears it in a half-ponytail. A  _ manly  _ half-ponytail.”

“Is this how you coax him?” Yennefer asked. “Because I don’t think you know what coaxing is.”

“No, this is haranguing,” Jaskier said.

“It’s pestering,” said Geralt. “I’ve been harangued. If that’s like being bitten by a dog, this is like… being energetically nibbled by a puppy.”

“Oh, fuck you very much.” Though at least Geralt had chosen to compare him with something cute and lovable.

“Luckily I know how to make it stop.”

“Do not.”

Geralt fixed him with a look and slowly stood up, the water streaming down his body and leaving his wet skin glistening, droplets like tiny diamonds in his hair.

“Oh,” said Jaskier quietly. “Yes, that’ll do it.” Geralt stepped out of the bath and walked over to him, leaning in with his hands on the bed on either side of Jaskier’s legs. He brought his face close enough to Jaskier’s for him to feel his breath, gazing at him steadily, appraisingly. Jaskier stared back, wide-eyed and mildly, pleasantly flustered. 

“You’re a sticky mess,” Geralt said. “Get in the bath.”

As Jaskier scrambled off the bed to obey, he sent him on his way with a slap on the bottom that made his cheeks burn, both sets. He was caught between wanting to act up to all this dominance and play the naughty little brat who would get put firmly in his place by — well, he’d never actually mentioned the D-word to Geralt as he was pretty sure he would be put off by it, and now was  _ not _ the time to mention it when he was being teased about liking older men, but he’d certainly thought it enough — and on the other hand not really wanting to do that in front of Yennefer, so clearly he still wasn’t fully comfortable with her. And was Geralt trying to make it look to Yennefer as if he was not just less submissive but also a lot more dominant in their relationship than he typically was, just because he was embarrassed? He was happy to perform  _ with _ Geralt but didn’t want to feel like a  _ prop _ in his performance. He got into the tub thinking that they were going to have to have a Word about this. 

He was briefly distracted from those thoughts by surprise at discovering that the water wasn’t soapy or cloudy and hadn’t cooled down since the first time he was in it — still clear and just the right heat and faintly scented with lilac. Magic bath, not just in the sense that it had appeared by magic.  _ Neat. _ Was Yennefer planning to let them keep borrowing this tent? That would improve his nightlife immeasurably. He still felt great love and pleasure hastily buggering Geralt in the dark, struggling not to make a noise and trying not to kneel on a sharp rock or stick, but it paled by comparison to being able to take their time in comfort. That and, in much more practical terms, this would be extremely useful for cleaning Geralt up when he came home filthy and battered, much better than a tub you had to fill with buckets of river water mixed with a few potfuls boiled over a campfire.  _ There’s a housewife thought if ever I saw one. _

The other two were being quiet and when he looked over it was clear why; Geralt was kneeling on the floor in front of Yennefer’s chair with his face between her legs. That must be the worshipful manner she was talking about. All there was to hear at the moment was deep breathing and small, soft, wet sounds of lips and tongue. He couldn’t see much with the bed in the way, and maybe he wasn’t meant to; he hadn’t asked for a show, after all, and this was very clearly for Yennefer’s benefit. She was still wearing her silky wrapper, though clearly there was nothing under it. Her head hung forward with dark waves spilling around her face, her hands were in Geralt’s hair, fingers combing through it, and he heard a faint little sound, almost a mew. Jaskier had wondered vaguely if she’d been masturbating while she watched them; either she hadn’t, so Geralt was attending to her now, or she had discreetly, without him noticing, and was now getting seconds. He could guess that Geralt was gazing up at her adoringly, which was enough to make anyone melt even if he wasn’t kissing them in sensitive places. He’d received enough of the adoring-while-licking-and-sucking gaze to be sure of it. 

This was a weird feeling, the combination of “he’s more mine than yours,” “I’ve put far more time and energy into loving him,” jealousy and feeling really  _ proud _ of Geralt and hoping Yennefer thoroughly appreciated and enjoyed him. The sounds she was making suggested she did. He wondered what he should  _ do _ now, other than obviously have a wash. He began on that while thinking about it. Well, he certainly shouldn’t be  _ daunted, _ what kind of wimp would be daunted by these circumstances? She was  _ only _ a beautiful lady with magic powers and fantastic hair who Geralt had fallen head over heels in love with and felt bound to by destiny. Whereas he was… well, in an odd sort of way the lack of any whiff of destiny about their relationship could be seen as a strength. He wasn’t close to Geralt because some mystical force willed it so, he was there because he wanted to be and Geralt wanted him there too. If someone had informed him that the Book of Destiny said in letters of gold that Geralt was only meant to be with Yennefer, he would have said “Bugger destiny,” rolled up his sleeves and… found a pen and some good indelible ink to add “AND JASKIER, WHO LOVES HIM,” underlined twice. 

Did the Book of Destiny require more formality? Should he use his full name, to make it look sort of legal? But in a way Julian Alfred Pankratz was just who he was  _ born _ to be and Jaskier was who he had  _ decided _ to be; therefore it was definitely a better name with which to defy destiny for love. He felt quite bucked up by the thought. In fact, if someone else had informed him that actually, for a certain fact, it  _ was _ destiny for him to be with Geralt and that was why they’d met and why they kept finding each other again and why he’d been instrumental, however unintentionally, in both Yennefer and Ciri entering Geralt’s life, he would now be miffed. He felt like sharing this satisfying insight but obviously no one else wanted to hear it; he wouldn’t have thanked anyone for interrupting oral sex with their personal epiphany if he’d been on the receiving end. Or the giving end, for that matter. At this stage Yennefer was lying back in her chair gasping and whimpering ecstatically and Geralt was making the muffled moaning-growling sounds that meant he was  _ deeply _ into what he was doing. Jaskier felt a little chest-pang of affection for how  _ sweet _ he was.

He got out of the bath and dried himself and returned to the bed to watch comfortably, head on the pillows. Interesting that Geralt worried about looking submissive with  _ him _ but didn’t have any hesitation about kneeling, naked, in front of an elegantly if minimally dressed woman to pleasure her with his mouth. The visual levels of power might have been more striking if she’d also worn a tiara and made the armchair look like a throne, but just a bit. On the other hand, maybe it made him feel powerful to have such an intense effect on Yennefer, who was panting desperately now and clutching a handful of his hair; on  _ another _ hand, with that fistful of hair she was holding his head down and pushing his crimson face firmly into her vulva. Well, good for her.  _ She _ didn’t have any ladylike hesitations about taking what she wanted. And of  _ course _ Yennefer turned out to have a passionate, beautiful orgasm face. He was very mildly concerned about whether Geralt could breathe through this, or if he was in any danger of a thigh-inflicted skull fracture, but she was relaxing now, going limp in the chair and exhaling a long sigh of satisfaction. Geralt came up for air, panting, and after a moment pushed himself up to kiss her. 

“Can I,” he began, his voice rough and husky, and she said, “Yes, but on the bed.” He got up in a hurry, lifted her and carried her over. Jaskier rolled out of the way as they tumbled onto the bed together, wondering if he was expected to get off altogether and take the chair and disinclined to do so when he was comfortable here. Neither of them seemed to notice him, much less mind. Geralt was on his back with Yennefer astride him, kissing him roughly. There was a kind of quick fumble, Yennefer reaching between them to guide Geralt’s cock, then sliding down with a long, sweet moan. Geralt’s head fell back and his hands squeezed her thighs as he groaned softly. 

“The trick is,” Yennefer said, surprising Jaskier by addressing him, “he’s often not completely hard when we start, but that means I can feel him  _ growing _ inside me and I  _ love _ that.” She closed her eyes, biting her lower lip in delight as she sat up straight and arched her back.. 

“Don’t tell him  _ that _ ,” Geralt said.

“Why not?” Jaskier asked. “I know how your dick behaves.” On impulse he leaned in and kissed Geralt — so that was how Yennefer tasted, a bit coppery and a bit sweet.

“He just got bigger,” said Yennefer. “Keep going.”

“But,” said Geralt with a touch of desperation.

“Lie still,” said Yennefer. “And if it feels like too much all at once? It’s supposed to.” She didn’t move much, but Geralt gasped.

“Oh, clever girl, she’s squeezing you inside, isn’t she? How are you going to hold still? Can you stand it?” Jaskier asked. 

“I can’t,” Geralt said, and moved one hand from Yennefer’s thigh to grip the back of Jaskier’s neck and hold him close for a deep kiss. Jaskier reached across his chest to plant a hand on the other side of his body and lie half across him, kissing him greedily, licking and nipping at his lips. He could feel Geralt tensing up and heard Yennefer giving a soft, teasing little laugh. 

“I’d like to predict that you’ll come in about two minutes,” she said. “Five at the outside.”

“Not if you don’t  _ make _ me,” Geralt said breathlessly. “I can —”

“No, this is what you get for edging  _ poor  _ Jaskier along so  _ cruelly,” _ said Jaskier. “Right?”

“Well, I just enjoy having him at my mercy, but you make a good excuse, so yes, let’s say that,” she said. 

“I’ll get you back for this,” Geralt growled.

“Please do,” Jaskier said, kissing him again and feeling him shiver. “Think how lucky you are to have  _ two _ lovely people who just want to make you feel so good you lose every vestige of dignity and self-control.”

Geralt said something very muddled with “shut” and “fuck” in it somewhere and kissed him rapturously, so he felt free to rub his chest and belly and tease the sensitive spots that made him tense and tremble. Yennefer had a completely unfair advantage in having captured the most sensitive part of him, but he had the well-earned advantage of being extremely familiar with the whole of his body and thereby having more sneaky little tricks at his disposal to get him overstimulated. 

“Oh, it’s not fair, is it, darling?” Yennefer asked mockingly. “You just want to be strong. And it’s  _ so _ much easier to concentrate on making someone else feel wonderful than to surrender. If it helps, you’re outnumbered.”

“Two against one doesn’t really count as outnumbered for him,” said Jaskier, playing with Geralt’s nipples. He was debating whether to let Yennefer see that if you licked your finger and stuck it in Geralt’s navel it made him squirm, or if he wanted to keep that one to himself. It probably wasn’t necessary to get him over the top. There was that heavy chuffing sound in Geralt’s breathing, and his hands were twitching, and although he was making a truly manful effort not to hump or thrust, his hips kept rising and falling because he was clenching his buttocks. His face was so beautiful, eyes closed and lips softly parted and suffused with tense pleasure, Jaskier could not look away. “It’s okay,” he breathed, and kissed him. “Let go.”

“Ah, there he goes!” Yennefer exclaimed as Geralt gave a blissful moan, his hips spasming. She rode up and down with him, rather gracefully, until he subsided. The sound of the rain around them was mingled with a ripple of applause. Jaskier glanced up, curious, but there was no visible audience, just the sound swelling up and fading away. “My work here is done,” she said, dismounting and curling up at Geralt’s side. 

“Do you need me to,” Geralt began, and she cut him off saying, “No, but I think he does, after a show like that.”

“Oh, I can finish off by myself if you two just want to cuddle,” Jaskier said, feeling that he was being an extremely good sport.

“Don’t be stupid,” Geralt said, rolling towards him and kissing him deeply. “You’re hard and I’m going to take care of you.”

“I’m so glad I don’t have to be that good of a sport,” Jaskier sighed. Geralt’s hand closed around his cock and began to stroke as he kissed him.

“I don’t know who taught him his manners,” Yennefer said, “but they did a good job.”

“I know, didn’t they? Where are you going —  _ oh.” _ Geralt had slid down to suck him. He hadn’t expected that in front of Yennefer. Maybe he felt too blissed-out to have inhibitions any more, or maybe Yennefer’s little surrender talk had soothed some of them away. Either way his mouth was soft and wet and his tongue was swirling and stroking and he was gazing up at Jaskier with the sort of fierce love that made him tremble. “Oh, my love, that’s perfect. You take  _ such _ good care of me.” He stroked back Geralt’s hair and sighed with pleasure. He was surprised again when Yennefer leaned across over Geralt’s head to kiss him — just one soft kiss, but it felt important, like an agreement or a promise. Definitely not an abomination, so that was good. She pulled up the covers and snuggled down beside them. Geralt hummed softly and deeply, sucking harder, although the poor man’s jaw muscles must be aching from overuse by this time. Jaskier lay stroking his hair and sinking into warm, lazy comfort and bliss. The orgasm that followed wasn’t explosive, but it was deep and sweet and left him feeling heavy and peaceful. 

Geralt came back up to kiss him again, then rolled back on the pillows, heavy-eyed and drowsy, and yawned. 

“I think he’s done,” said Yennefer fondly. “We wore him out.” She lifted his arm and nestled in beside him with her head on his shoulder. 

“I’m tired,” Geralt said, his eyes closing, “but is everyone happy? Yes? Good.” 

“And now you get to sleep with both of us cuddled up to you like the stud you are,” Jaskier said, patting Geralt’s chest and settling in on his other side. 

“Stud is overdoing it,” Geralt rumbled softly. 

“All right, generous and diligent lover, then. Will not sleep till everyone’s satisfied. Despite how sleepy I know you get after you come.” He played with the hair on Geralt’s chest, twisting it into curls with his fingertip.

“I can always push through it,” Geralt murmured. “Get a second wind and I’m fine.”

“I know, love, I just appreciate you making an effort.”

“You could let him sleep now,” Yennefer pointed out. “It’s after midnight.”

“Good night, Geralt, you are greatly loved,” Jaskier said, and relaxed with his arm draped across Geralt’s waist. 

“Hmm,” Geralt breathed, already more than half asleep. 

Jaskier lay watching him besottedly. He was very calm but still fairly wakeful, in the way where you could feel sleep would certainly come soon and you could enjoy relaxing until it did, particularly when you had something so lovely to look at in the dim candlelight. 

Yennefer was eyeing him from the other side of Geralt, looking wryly amused. 

“What?” he whispered.

“You’re so devoted to him,” she whispered back.

“Well, he’s worth it, isn’t he?”

“I’m really starting to think he is. I should be relieved… except it means I have to keep trying to be worth it, too. Not easy. You’ve possibly noticed in the past that I have a temper.”

“Just a trifle.”

“Well, I suppose we all have our weak points. I have a mean streak. You’re a gadabout slut.”

“Thank you, vinegar face.”

“And if the gadabout slut can actually be a reliable and loving partner and father, I suppose I can find it in me to do something similar, so you encourage me.” She reached across Geralt and patted his arm. “I think I want to stay.”

“Am I the first one you should tell?”

“You’re easy to tell things because I don’t worry about what you’ll think of me.”

“Geralt’s weak point is that he withdraws into himself to avoid feeling anything bad. I had to try for ages to get him to come out of that shell. He popped right out for you of his own accord.”

“That makes him sound like a snail.”

“A nude snail, having popped entirely out of the shell. A slug.”

“Gross,” she said, smiling. 

“Completely. I can’t remember what my point was going to be. But I’m glad if I can encourage you, because he’s going to be so truly happy if you stay. I mean, you’re seeing him in full bloom right now. There are going to be times when he closes up under pressure into a tight little bud again, but they won’t be permanent.”

“A flower seems inappropriate, but it’s better than a snail.”

“I call him my little flower sometimes.  _ Because _ it’s inappropriate and it makes his ears turn pink. Do  _ not _ tell him I told you that.”

“I think I’ll just stick with calling him Geralt.”

“You called him darling earlier.”

“I was teasing him.”

“Can I ask you a question that’s got nothing to do with this? But I’ve been wondering?”

“Mmhm.”

“How on earth did you manage to enchant a handkerchief into a tent with all this stuff in it? Just while sitting in bed? Wouldn’t you need… I don’t know, special herbs and potions and a full moon and possibly to sacrifice a goat?”

Yennefer chuckled. “I didn’t enchant the handkerchief into a tent at all, I enchanted it into a kind of door. That’s much more easily done. The inside of the tent is a space I made a long, long time ago. That was the hard work. No goats were harmed, though. I’ve had and lost lots of different doors into it through the years, but a handkerchief is the most convenient.”

“And can it have anything you need in it at all?”

“It has things I’ve built into it already because I thought I’d want them. There’s the bath, you enjoyed that. It and the bed will clean themselves. I have some changes of clothes in a chest. Some emergency money. Toiletries, cosmetics, must have those. Oh, and there’s a silver dagger in the bedside drawer, so be careful if you reach in there for anything, don’t cut your fingers.”

“Ah, so that’s what Geralt raised his eyebrows at. I thought he’d seen a massive dildo.”

“Well, there’s one of those too. Which I suppose I could use as a club if the dagger failed me for self-defence.”

“Well, thank you for making it and for sharing it. Can we keep using it? As long as I promise not to call it the fuck tent?”

“Well, if we’re honest that’s what we’re using it for.”

“It was a pretty great fuck, in my humble opinion. You clearly enjoyed yours too. And it was all right when I joined in near the end, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, I was hoping you would. We should work on him together again. Next time I could sit on his face and you could blow him.”

“It starts to feel like we are really friends when we can make plans like that.”

“Do you have friends like that?”

“My dear, most of my friends have been like that.”

“Oh yes, gadabout slut. Now happily retired from slutting.”

“Well, I’d rather say I’m on a sabbatical.”

“Are you eyeing the door?”

“While planning to return through it, yes. Because it’s the door of my home.” He patted Geralt’s chest again. “I’m nomadic by nature, but he’s my home. Well, as he’s so big, my mansion.”

“Jaskier, if you begin making puns all the time, I will never let you fuck in my tent again.”

“That wasn’t — oh,  _ man _ sion. Oh dear. Totally accidental, I promise you.”

“Good.”

“As we’re also best friends, he could be my palace.”

“Stop it!”

“You want to slap me, don’t you,” he asked, fighting with himself not to giggle.

“If I could without waking him up, you’d be slapped already.”

“You could hit me with the dildo.”

“Shut  _ up _ and go to sleep,” she hissed, her eyes glittering. “Why are you so terrible at pillow talk?”

“Because I don’t know when to stop. Ever. It’s the story of my life.”

“You’re so self-aware about being such a twit.” She looked again at Geralt, and her eyes softened. “He said such a sweet thing to me in bed once. That before he knew me, the days were calm, and the nights were restless.” She very lightly stroked his cheek. 

“He said what?” She gave him a rather hurt look. “No, sorry, I’m not criticising your treasured memory, it sounds lovely. I’m just baffled at how he would describe  _ his _ days as  _ calm, _ given how often they involved being repeatedly nearly killed.”

“Or followed around by you, singing,” Yennefer acknowledged. “It was a bit of an odd thing to say, now I think of it.”

“He does often have trouble sleeping. Stress does it to him. Can’t sleep at night, feels like a wreck during the day, everything’s harder to cope with, exhausted at end of day, can’t sleep, repeat the next day getting worse. Not when he sleeps with me, though. Or, I guess, with you.”

“We fucked him calm,” said Yennefer. 

“Well,” said Jaskier, smiling, “that definitely helps but I can also tell you that it works chastely too. Lots of nights travelling with Ciri, when we couldn’t have any privacy, but he still cuddled up to me and slept like a cat in a sunbeam.”

“A great big cat.”

“Yes, a great big alley tomcat with lots of scars and crooked whiskers.”

They both fell quiet, watching Geralt sleep between them. Jaskier realised that, unexpectedly, he had come to one of those points where he was happy to stop talking. The rain sound had faded to a soft shush. He was utterly comfortable and very warm. Everything around him smelled like… well, there were lilacs, but it smelled like sex in the nicest way, three people’s different scents of cum and sweat layered together. He had Geralt for a big, firm body pillow and Yennefer felt like a welcome, friendly companion.  _ This is my kind of love, _ he thought, drifting into sleep. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is virtually all conversations so I hope you like THOSE (I obviously do).  
> once again, I have NO idea what the official rules of vampires, unicorns or anything else supernatural are in Witcher-world, please bear with me as I make stuff up willy-nilly  
> (I have to say, I would be fairly annoyed if reading a fanfic by someone who didn't know these things about a fantasy world I was very familiar with, like Narnia or the Discworld, and just kept inventing their own versions and said they didn't want to have to do homework about it)  
> (I actually did do a tiny bit of research about caravans and was irked to discover that vardo caravans of the type I've given them really only existed from the nineteenth century on, definitely not in any mediaeval-ish period, but I decided fuck that, it's cute)

Geralt was shaking his shoulder again. Instead of inviting him to fuck off, he rolled towards him and wrapped his arms around him. “Lessgo again,” he mumbled. “Yen wants to sit on your face.”

“Not… now,” said Geralt.

“Although hold that thought, obviously,” said Yennefer, somewhere nearby. Jaskier opened his eyes. The tent was dark and Geralt was a big warm shadow holding him. 

“What time is it?” he asked.

“Before dawn,” said Geralt. “We should be back where we were before Ciri wakes up. Get yourself cleaned up.”

“Oh… blah, but you’re right.” Geralt let go of him and he sat up and scruffled his hands through his hair, trying to wake up properly.

“She’s a smart girl so I’m sure she has a general idea that there are goings-on between us,” said Yennefer, who was sitting on the side of the bed brushing her hair, “but she shouldn’t have to know anything specific like times, places and participants.”

“No, quite, I don’t think you can die of being grossed out but it can feel like it at her age.”

“I’ve found your pants,” said Geralt, shuffling around searching the floor, and threw them to him. 

“I mean, I assume so,” said Yennefer, “but then I didn’t really have a normal childhood to go by. What about you?”

“Don’t know my father, hardly remember my mother, artificially mutated and trained to fight monsters,” said Geralt concisely. 

“I meant Jaskier.”

“Raised by nannies, thought my wet nurse was my mum till I was three,” said Jaskier. “Are we actually the three  _ least _ suitable people to bring up a child, do you think?” He realised as he said it that he had no idea what sort of childhood Yennefer might have had, if he’d thought about it at all. She could have been born a princess or raised by feral dogs. Either way she might have been happy or unhappy. He’d been spoiled, he supposed, but mostly happy; a lot of things about Geralt’s upbringing frankly appalled him but he retained an affection or loyalty for the place and the people that it was useless to argue with — and after all, why should he want to take that away from him?

“We don’t beat her, and we haven’t tried to sell her,” said Geralt, pulling his shirt on. “For perspective.”

“Well, if you set the bar that low we sail over it,” said Jaskier, cheering up. 

Once dressed, they shuffled out into the grey pre-dawn, that peculiar time you couldn’t truly call night or morning. Yennefer plucked at the wall of the tent and it crumpled back into a handkerchief which she put in the pocket of her wrapper. Everything was quiet and dew lay thick on the grass.

“Our blankets will be soggy,” Jaskier said. 

“If that’s the worst thing you have to complain of, you’re doing all right,” said Geralt. He turned to kiss Yennefer and murmured, “Good morning.”

“Good morning, I suppose,” she said, stroking his cheek. “Where’s my kiss?” she asked Jaskier, who was disconsolately turning the damp blanket over with his bare foot. He blinked at her in surprise. 

“Here, of course.” He considered kissing her cheek, since he felt a little awkward, but decided avoiding her lips was more awkward, then decided to make it a good one as long as he was there, which she seemed to enjoy. She slipped back into the caravan and he noticed Geralt looking rather twinkly-eyed. “What?”

“You like her now, that’s all.”

“I’m beginning to, I’m glad to say.”

“You called her Yen.”

“I suppose I did. Was that very symbolic in your eyes? I thought the kissing meant more.” 

Geralt kissed him, holding his face between warm palms. “That was good too.”

“I think I can tolerate the soggy blanket with you under it.”

“Why would you go back to bed? It’s practically morning. Get your boots on and help me see to the horses.”

“Ughhhh, why did I fall in love with someone  _ practical?” _

“You thought I was handsome and mysterious.”

“Oh yeah. Silly of me, really.”

“I tried to tell you so at the time.”

Over breakfast around the campfire (porridge made with only water, but on the other hand, sweetened with honey) Geralt outlined his plans for the day; to travel further into the mountains towards a mining settlement that offered a good bounty for evidence of dead vampires.

“Isn’t it a  _ silver _ mine?” Yennefer asked. “Are vampires that much of a threat?”

“The vampires periodically gather and attack the settlement to try to cut off the production of silver. So I periodically pass through and clear out the nests. It’s dirty work but not too hard by day. I wondered if you would want to come,” he said rather diffidently to Yennefer.

“Oh,  _ she _ gets to go,” said Ciri. 

“She does, if she wants to, because she’s an adult and a mage and I’ve fought with her before and know she’s capable. I want you to stay and practise with Jaskier.”

“Practise her singing?” Yennefer asked. “What for? You don’t want her to perform in public, understandably, but what use is it to her? No offence, Jaskier.”

“Oh, I take tremendous offence,” said Jaskier cheerfully. “Ciri, do you want to show Yen what we’ve been practising lately? I’ve been letting you slack off the last few days.” 

“Right,” said Ciri, getting up and taking a deep breath.

“Shoulders back,” he reminded her.

“Got it, got it,” she said, shaking out her shoulders and arms. She took a sight down her arm and pointed to a rock on the ground about the size of a curled-up housecat. “That one.” Another deep breath, and she sang a low note, near the bottom of her range, which swelled and reverberated uncannily. The rock shattered and collapsed.

“Brava,” said Jaskier, applauding. “Your projection is coming along a treat. I think I did mention she’s got a rather special voice,” he added to Yennefer, who looked both startled and impressed. He was delighted; he’d been  _ hoping _ neither Geralt nor Ciri had mentioned to her what the voice training was really about so he’d have a chance to flabbergast her. Working out how he could actually help with Ciri’s training in a way that Geralt couldn’t had been one of the highlights of the long cold winter at Kaer Morhen. 

“The lion’s roar,” she said. “I’ve heard of it but didn’t realise you could do it.”

“Yes, and I could do it to vampires’ heads too,” said Ciri, sitting back down. 

“You can do it calmly with time to prepare,” said Geralt. “Don’t misunderstand how proud I am of you, but just like the fighting I’ve taught you, you’ll need more practice to be able to do it fast and under pressure when something’s trying to kill you.”

“When will I have enough?” she asked with a huff. “What’s the point of teaching me to fight, so I can be not so helpless, and then not letting me fight because you still think I’m helpless? Jaskier, can you tell him?”

“Nobody thinks you’re helpless. You could kick my arse for a certainty. Do you really think I’m going to say yes, Geralt, you should let our precious girl go into a den of vampires with you before she’s even fully grown?”

“You were killing monsters when you were my age,” Ciri said to Geralt, ignoring Jaskier as being of no help. 

“Exactly. I want to spare you that until you’re old enough to bear it better. It’s not  _ nice,  _ Ciri. It’s not  _ satisfying. _ It’s brutal and ugly and you have to make part of yourself dead to be able to keep on killing. I know that you’ve felt helpless and afraid. Now you want to feel strong and capable. That’s understandable. I just want you to feel  _ safe.” _

“Well, I don’t! I know I’m not safe! I’ve really never been safe, I just thought I was when I was a child and didn’t know how things worked!”

Geralt’s face was darkening, and he spoke with very careful control. “You will always be safe when you’re under my care. That’s the most important thing I do. All I need you to do is to  _ listen _ to me and understand that I have known  _ how things work _ for a lot longer than you have, and maybe be a little grateful that I love you enough to try to spare you the worst of it.”

“I’ve  _ seen _ —” she began.

“No,” he cut her off. “You haven’t. You have seen terrible things. You’ve seen slaughter and murder. I know they give you nightmares. You have  _ not _ seen the worst.  _ Think _ about it. There are worse things than that. I am not exaggerating or trying to scare you. I’m not going to try to describe them. I’m just asking you to trust me. You don’t want my nightmares.”

Ciri still looked mutinous. Tears rose in her eyes and her face reddened. She blinked them away hard and said, “All right,  _ fuck,  _ you don’t have to make me feel stupid.”

“I’m not trying to do that either,” said Geralt, and went back to eating porridge. After a few moments Jaskier kicked his ankle. “What?” he said, startled. 

“You haven’t finished,” said Jaskier. 

“She’s finishing her breakfast,” said Geralt. 

“That doesn’t mean she’s all right.”

Ciri was putting porridge away mechanically, staring into her plate with a frown. Geralt looked from her to Jaskier to Yennefer, as if hoping for some guidance. Yennefer made a don’t-ask- _ me _ face and shrugged impatiently. After a moment Geralt put his plate aside and went over to where Ciri was sitting. He stood looming over her for a moment before crouching down and trying to look into her face. “Do you, uh, do you need a hug?” he asked. 

She shook her head. He looked back at Jaskier, who glared at him. 

“May I, though?”

“What for?” she asked sullenly. 

“To — try to show you I love you and I don’t want any ill feeling between us?”

Ciri sniffed, but she put her plate aside and hugged him. After a few moments with her head on his shoulder she said, “I do feel safe like this.” Jaskier had the good fortune to be able to see Geralt’s face over her shoulder; for half a second his eyes went all wide and shiny, then he scrunched them shut. It made his heart feel squishy. A man of his profession ought to be able to come up with a better description than that, but squishy was how it felt. 

The hug seemed to restore peace. They finished breakfast without any further fraught discussion, only practicalities of travel. Yennefer said very little and Jaskier thought she looked sulky, for some reason. 

“Ever done dishes?” he asked her. 

“What?”

“Well, I don’t want to assume, perhaps when you’ve finished boiling frogs or whatever, a goblin scrubs out the cauldron.”

“I have, in fact, done dishes. Not for a long time, but I’m sure I recall the main points.”

“Then will you come and help me with this lot?”

She looked like she was strongly considering refusal, but nodded and followed him to the small stream that ran down from the mountains (he noted she did not volunteer to carry anything).

“Is this really a two person job?” she asked, kneeling on a flat rock and turning up her sleeves. 

“Not really, I just wanted to ask you what you thought of that back there. You clammed up, and you’re not usually backward in coming forward, so I thought it was odd.” He pushed his own sleeves up and stuck the plates in the stream to rinse. It had a sandy-gravelly bottom which should be good for scouring. 

“I was biting my tongue,” she said. “I don’t want to interfere between him and her.”

“Probably a good idea at this stage, but what did you  _ think?”  _

“I thought he was right but I absolutely understood how angry and frustrated she was. I don’t think he understands much about feeling powerless — and feeling like you’ve been working your heart out and always being told it’s not enough is infuriating.” She dipped the cooking pot in the water and tipped it out. 

“You and I are more or less on the same page then. Although I have more of a ‘no, she’s my baby’ reaction, which I know is ridiculous given her age and how long I’ve known her, I just hate the thought of anything hurting her. She’s just a kid.”

“Well, she doesn’t seem to feel like one.”

“I don’t mean I think she’s silly or weak, I just mean she’s so young and she’s had such a hard time already, I’m in no hurry to push her in the direction of more suffering. And she’s being so brave and trying to take  _ action.  _ When I was her age my biggest worry was where I was and wasn’t growing hair, and the horrible thicket of pimples on my chin. If I’d been put in her situation I think I’d have died in about twenty minutes. It’s terrifying to watch. And all I can do to help her is teach her to project her voice.”

“Which you demonstrated is actually pretty useful,” said Yennefer. “I think I can help her more with the magical side of it, but you’ve given her a strong foundation.” She frowned, swirling a handful of sand around the bottom of the pot. Jaskier noticed, with some surprise, a shiny old scar on the inside of her wrist. There had been quite a deep cut there, a long time ago. Someone as proud and stubborn as Yennefer was the last person he would have expected to try to do away with herself. Get herself killed trying to do something ambitious and deranged, quite possibly, but not on purpose. It reminded him that he really had no idea how old she was — as old as Geralt? older? — or what might have happened to her. 

“If I do try to help her,” Yennefer went on, “I think I’ll probably do it wrong, or at least go against what Geralt wants. You know when he was telling her there were worse things, and he wouldn’t describe them? I would absolutely have told her about the worse things I’ve seen. Dismembered bodies, torture, dead babies, the works. I would have tried to  _ terrify _ her, and if I’d made her cry that would have meant I’d done my job. And it’s just been occurring to me how fucked up that really is. How fucked up  _ I _ am.”

He was trying to think of anything to say back to that, since “I’m sure you’re not” would have been blatantly dishonest, and his brain was unhelpfully putting together various sad scenarios involving dead babies and that scar, when she fixed him with a look. “You were having a little joke saying we were the three least suitable people,” she said, “but maybe I really am. I’ve always thought no, I know exactly what I  _ don’t  _ want to do to a child, I’ll be kind and she’ll love me, but… I mean…” She took a deep breath in and let it out slowly, fighting for her composure. “I wasn’t a wanted child, you know. I was a stepchild and an ugly one at that. I spent my childhood in and around a pigsty. I was never in any doubt that I was a burden and a mistake. When my talent revealed itself, my mentor Tissaia came and found me. She bought me from my stepfather for less than he would have charged her for a pig. He made a point of that. And my mother protested but didn’t stop him. And that was the last I saw of them.”

“But then… Tissaia taught you magic and set you free?” Jaskier said hopefully. 

Yennefer made a sound he truly couldn’t distinguish as a laugh or a sob. Her expression was a kind of angry grin. “Oh, Tissaia saved my life and taught me everything I know. I would be nothing without her. And she made me feel like nothing every single day. I’m so grateful to her  _ and _ I hate that fucking bitch. And in a way I think she loves me and she’s proud of me! Do you understand?  _ Can _ you understand?”

“I… don’t think I do, but look, I’m used to that, it doesn’t put me off.” He patted her knee awkwardly. 

“I don’t know why I’m telling  _ you _ . It’s not fair to you! I ought to tell Geralt but it feels like standing in front of him with my guts hanging out. Ugh.” She wiped her wet hands on her skirt, dug out a handkerchief, angrily blotted her eyes and blew her nose. She glared at Jaskier. “What are you looking at me like that for?”

“Sorry, it’s incredibly unseemly,” he faltered, “I just thought, did you just blow your nose on the fuck tent?”

Her face became oddly calm. “Jaskier,” she said, “you’re the most ridiculous man that breathes. You do know that. It’s — it’s almost transcendental.”

“Has it inadvertently made you feel better?” he asked hopefully. 

“It’s definitely distracted me from how I was feeling. Let me catch my breath. And no, this is an ordinary handkerchief.” She crumpled it up between her hands and squeezed it. “Right. Where was I?”

“Guts hanging out. You were trying to get me to understand something about how you feel about your mentor? Or your upbringing?”

“In some ways Tissaia is more like my mother than my mother. She’s always under my skin and in my head. Wanting to tell Ciri all that, to hurt her so she’d learn something, felt like Tissaia talking through me. The way I thought she never could. I never want to make Ciri feel the way she made me feel. But it’s not as simple as just ‘do the opposite of what Tissaia would do’ because they feel like my own thoughts when they come. Maybe that’s just what I’m  _ like.” _

“All right,” said Jaskier, “I think I do understand what you mean. I don’t  _ know  _ what it’s like, but I understand what you’ve said. I’d be lying if I said I know what to do about it, but I don’t think that’s just what you’re  _ like. _ I think you’re rather better than that. And I think if you tell Geralt, well, he’s used to guts, he won’t mind it. He’d want to know something’s bothering you and he probably knows what to say a lot better than I do. All I can say is, you deserved better. All the way through, you deserved better.”

“That means more to me than you might think,” she said quietly. 

“Well, I know you don’t care what I think of you.”

“I don’t  _ worry.  _ It’s a bit different. A step up from don’t care.”

“Well, that’s rather nice.”

“I don’t have to tell you, do I, not to repeat any of this to anyone? I’ll tell Geralt in my own time. Soon.”

“Absolutely. Who would I tell? Obviously not Ciri, and Roach and Trout despise gossip.” He leaned over and gave her a light kiss. “Promise.”

Yennefer gave him a look he couldn’t quite categorise, amused and sceptical and perhaps also affectionate. “I bet,” she said, “you think that because I confided in you, you’re in.”

“Nah, I’m in because I’m so charming and also highly convenient. I realise you’re not in love with me and that’s perfectly all right. I’m not in love with you.”

“You’re  _ not?” _ she said with a little hurt gasp, and for a moment he felt like a brute before seeing the sardonic glint in her eyes. 

“I am not, Queen Weasel,” he said, with the closest thing to a courtly bow he could make while squatting on the ground, “which is interesting because I’ve been more or less in love, at least in the relevant moments, with every other woman I’ve been involved with. I’m really quite curious to see if I’m going to fall in love with you or if you’re going to remain in your own special category.”

“You’re seriously going to sit there and tell me you’ve been in love every time?”

“At least temporarily. I think my version of ‘in love’ is different from most people’s, but it’s nonetheless sincere.”

“So falling in love with Geralt didn’t make you feel that all the other times you thought you were in love were really just infatuation or lust, which would be conventional.”

“Nope! He is in a special category, because I’ve loved him longer than anyone else and I love him all the time, even when we’re not together, but it’s still all real love.”

“Whereas I’ve had all kinds of affairs for reasons of power, intrigue and influence, but Geralt is the first person I’ve just loved for no reason. I was in love once before, a long time ago, but we were still both using each other — really we had no other choice, it was complicated. It actually feels really weird to have no ulterior motives. I don’t get anything out of being with him except being with him, and although that’s wonderfully satisfying, force of habit means I keep thinking there ought to be some additional goal, you know, to justify it.”

“We could come up with something,” Jaskier offered. “Sort of after the fact. Like, you’re using him to build a relationship with his daughter, ultimately restore her to the throne of Cintra, and essentially rule as an eminence grise because you’ll have so much influence with her.”

“Evil,” said Yennefer, looking slightly impressed. 

“Or, like, witcher semen is useless in terms of baby-making but an important ingredient in the magic potion that keeps you eternally young and lovely.”

“I use no such potion, and that’s  _ disgusting.” _

“Or you’re using him to get to  _ me _ because you want lots of wonderful songs written about you, so you’ll have poetic immortality. Or to marry my title.”

“What title?” Yennefer asked. “King of roses and romance isn’t a real thing.”

“I’m a viscount. Did — did Geralt not mention that, ever?”

“He said you were a rich boy trying to piss off his parents by slumming it as a wandering bard, and you also happen to be very good at it, which can’t be said for most rich boys trying to scandalise their parents. Didn’t mention a title.”

Jaskier felt rather shaken. He didn’t like Geralt describing him in those terms, even if he acknowledged his real talent and skill. He didn’t merely  _ happen _ to be good at something he’d chosen to do just to be rebellious, he’d rebelled because he  _ needed _ to do what he was good at. Was it jolly satisfying to show his parents they couldn’t make him do anything and he could be successful on his own terms and build something impressive that he didn’t just meekly inherit? Yes, certainly, but it wasn’t the  _ point.  _

“Are your feelings hurt that he didn’t tell me your pedigree?” Yennefer asked, looking puzzled. “Is it that important?”

“No, it just — well, it sounds like he doesn’t think much of me.”

“Don’t be a silly ass, you know he adores you.”

“You can adore someone and not really respect them, unfortunately. Fuck. I think I’m really upset.” It was like a sudden rush of nausea; his face went hot and sweaty while his armpits and back went cold and clammy and his stomach churned, except he felt like he might cry instead of vomit. 

“I wasn’t trying to upset you. You’ll  _ know  _ if I’m trying to upset you.”

“You haven’t, it’s him. Damn it.” He grabbed the cooking pot and attacked the crust of porridge with the fury of a man scorned, which proverbially was less than that of a woman but still pretty furious. 

“If you go off pop at him, he’ll know I told you and be upset with  _ me.” _

“Boo fucking hoo. No, sorry, but I’m not going to pretend I didn’t hear it. I’m going to ask him what the hell he meant by that. If he gets angry with you that’ll only show he’s got a guilty conscience, and I’ll tell him to stuff it.” She didn’t argue further, but rolled her eyes and walked off, and he finished the dishes with angry haste and marched with them back to the campsite to look for Geralt. 

Geralt was talking to Ciri and drawing something in the dirt with a long stick. Right, then, he was angry and upset but he was going to behave himself in front of her. Pleasant and calm. Of course that made it more likely he would pop off at Geralt once he could speak freely, but Geralt frankly could lump it. 

“What have you got there?” he asked. 

“We’re going to make a boar spear,” said Geralt, tapping the diagram he had drawn, “and I’ll take her pig hunting next time there’s a chance. A wounded boar is good experience for dealing with most monsters.”

“Right, as long as you gut it and peel it and so on and I don’t have to have anything to do with it other than enjoy a bit of roast pork for dinner, I think that’s a good plan. Can I have a word? Boring adults’ business, Ciri.” He nodded his head towards the caravan and Geralt followed him, shutting the door. Inside, he shoved the dishes into the cupboard and was disconcerted when Geralt came up behind him, put his hands on his waist and happily kissed the back of his neck. 

“You’re getting on well with Yen,” he said. “I kept Ciri busy so you could spend some time alone together. I couldn’t be happier that she’s starting to see what I see in you.”

“Yeah, and what is that exactly?” Jaskier asked, twisting around and sidling away from him. This was an awkwardly small space to have a conversation in, let alone a fight, which he feared it was going to be (largely because he was going to make it one).

Geralt looked at him in surprise. “What’s bitten you?” he asked. 

“I did spend some time with Yennefer, and the thing is, if you’ve got a girlfriend and a boyfriend both, we  _ talk.  _ Including about you, and she told me how you talk about  _ me.” _ He crossed his arms, both so he wouldn’t make extravagant gestures and knock things off shelves and to try to steady himself. “So apparently, I’m just a rich boy trying to piss off his parents, or were you misquoted?”

Geralt looked both foolish and rather guilty. “I wouldn’t have said you were  _ just _ anything.”

“What about the rest of it, then?” he demanded. 

“I might have summarised it a bit like that.”

“Is that really all you think of me?” Jaskier asked. He wasn’t sure he’d have believed an outright denial, but this weak admission really hurt. 

“Of course it isn’t. I love you and you’re part of my family.”

“That’s about what I am  _ to you _ , it’s not what I am  _ in myself _ , which apparently is some kind of snotty little dilettante who lucked into having a bit of talent.”

“I never said that at all, you’re just blowing it up because your feelings are hurt.”

“Yes, my bloody feelings are hurt! The man I love is saying shitty things about me because he doesn’t respect my vocation! Is that all you think my life’s work is, some kind of — of  _ gimmick  _ to annoy my father?”

“Of course not. If it was you’d have got bored and gone home years ago. I was just trying to sum up where you came from.”

“That’s exactly my point! You’re saying that like it makes it better when it makes it worse! I left home to follow my dreams and live for love and music and— and truth and beauty and all that. I studied and I worked and taught and I played so many shitty, shitty gigs to pay my dues and I found inspiration, I found  _ you _ , I tried all the time to create something memorable and moving and true, and when you tried to  _ sum that up  _ for Yen you made me sound like a spoiled brat. You don’t take me seriously.”

“Well — then I’m sorry. It came out wrong, because that wasn’t what I meant. Or Yen’s got it wrong somehow. You know how two people can talk and come away with different ideas of what was said — isn’t that what your ‘Quoth He, Quoth She’ song is about?”

“Don’t quote my songs to me to make a point.”

“The real point is I pay attention to your songs. I  _ like _ your songs now, I love your voice, I wouldn’t run you down to Yen or anybody.”

“And it’s all right for  _ my  _ career to be put on hold for months on end to be your housewife in this box on wheels!” He could hear himself getting louder and more frantic and he was embarrassed at himself but knew he was going to go on anyway. 

“What are you talking about,  _ housewife? _ And the caravan was your idea!”

“That’s not the point, my career is the point.”

“Well, it’s a bit bloody different, don’t you think?” Geralt snapped. “No one’s going to die if you don’t sing a song.”

“And you’re not going to feel like you’re losing your whole real life if you don’t kill something!”

“Oh, I see,” said Geralt quietly. “Well, if this isn’t your real life you’re welcome to fuck off back to it. Ciri and I will manage without you, believe me.”

“I  _ can’t, _ because I love you. And I love her.” Jaskier’s shoulders sagged. “This is awful,” he said. He backed up to their bed, across the rear of the room, sat down and put his head in his hands. He heard Geralt kick the little stove, hurt his foot on it and swear. Then he tried to pace about but was defeated by the small space. At least he wasn’t storming out, Jaskier supposed, but that would be because he didn’t want to scare Ciri, not because he didn’t want to leave. He settled on lurking at the other end of the room breathing heavily. 

After a minute or two, Geralt came over and sat down beside him, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together. Jaskier glanced sideways and saw his knuckles were yellow-white. 

“I’m sorry I said that,” Geralt muttered. “I don’t want to manage without you. I’d miss you. All the time.”

Jaskier lifted his head and wiped his eyes. “Thanks. I’m sorry I blew up all of a sudden.”

“Am I really making you feel like a housewife? That blindsided me,” said Geralt. “I thought it was just some sort of joke you had with Yen.”

“Not exactly. I don’t know. Everything’s been getting me down. And that’s  _ even though _ I love you both and I like living with you. I felt so guilty about kissing Yennefer when we were drunk because it made me feel like the old me, the real me. I just wanted to feel… fun and slutty and irresponsible and unattached. But I also want to be someone you can depend on. That’s more important. It just seems to mean I don’t get to feel like  _ me _ ever again.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t understand. That it was more than getting bored and missing performing. Probably I should have said, half of why I’m bringing us up here is because as well as the vampire contract I’ve had before, they’re always starved for entertainment in this town and they’re going to love you. I was looking forward to surprising you. ‘Look, an audience, you’re going to be the greatest thing they’ve seen in years.’ Now I’m not sure if that’s the sort of thing you’d want. You can do so much better than playing to a bar full of silver miners. It’s just that’s all I can offer for now.” He gave a small, dry laugh. “What a shit thing to offer someone who’s played for royalty.”

Jaskier reached out and put his hand over Geralt’s clasped ones, which parted to hold it. “I can play for royalty any time I want, she just sleeps in the bunk above us.” That got a more genuine, if still rueful laugh. “Thank you. I’m as starved for an audience as they are for entertainment, so it’s a good fit. I love you for thinking of me.”

“It doesn’t solve the problem though, does it? One decent meal doesn’t stop you starving.” He held Jaskier’s hand between both of his, stroking his palm with his thumbs, making it tingle and grow warm. Jaskier reached up with his other hand and touched Geralt’s cheek to turn his face towards him, and kissed him. 

“I’m not  _ starving  _ starving. You’re right, no one’s going to die.”

“No, but you’re not going to be happy. Not even with me  _ and  _ Yen. I admit I did think if you were hitting it off she’d be another reason for you to be happy, and you could be another reason for her to stay.”

“Oh, as if you aren’t enough.”

“I might not be. I think she likes the box on wheels even less than you do.”

“Well, that doesn’t have to be a problem, she’s got the fuck tent. It’s nicer in there than a lot of inns I’ve stayed at. Remember that dump where the chamberpot still had a poo in it from the last guest?”

“I don’t think I was with you for that one.”

“You were, but you were so tired you said ‘fuck it’ and lay down and went straight to sleep. You were getting over that concussion from the troll punching you in the head, poor sausage.”

“That’s right, I felt like hell.”

“You looked like it, with two black eyes. Well, after you conked out I took the pot downstairs and shook it under the innkeeper’s nose and told him it wasn’t good enough, and he gave me a look and said, ‘Can you not tip it out the window by yourself, princess?’ and I might have said something I’d regret but he got distracted just then by two dogs fucking very loudly in the kitchen, so I left it on the bar, and quite frankly I doubt anyone noticed in that hole.” Jaskier sighed. “I remember lying beside you in bed — scratching, because as a finishing touch there were fleas — and thinking what a squalid place it was and how somehow I was  _ still _ glad to be with you.” He wrapped his arms around Geralt’s neck and put his head down on his shoulder, and felt Geralt’s arms close around his waist and pull him close. “I should remember that, shouldn’t I?”

“We’ll have to work something out,” said Geralt. “I don’t know what yet, but I don’t want you to feel this way.” He gave him a little squeeze to make clear that he said this affectionately, and added, “It makes you dramatic.”

“Bitch,” Jaskier said contentedly. Geralt smelled good today, and he felt as warm and almost as firm as a sun-warmed rock. Being in the enclosure of his arms felt completely, tranquilly safe. 

“I’m sorry I made you feel like I don’t take you seriously. I suppose it hurts because for such a long time I really didn’t.”

“Oh. Yes, I think you’re right. Like… I thought I’d managed to change your mind but I hadn’t. It sounded like how you might have described me to someone back when I was just a nuisance to you. Actually, now I wonder if she was talking about something you’d said to her years ago.”

“No,” Geralt admitted, “I can’t get off the hook that way, I did say it more recently. We really hadn’t discussed you in depth and when I was asking her to consider coming to live with me, she asked me, ‘What  _ is _ the story with Jaskier, anyway? Why is someone like him out wandering around the world, as opposed to living under a duchess’s skirt?’”

“That makes me sound like one of those little rat dogs.”

“I didn’t think it was a compliment, no. I asked her to be kind to you. I said we were together now, you were important to me, and she would need to accept that for us to be together too.”

“Well, that was a much better thing to say. A little plain, perhaps, a little lacking in ‘he is the sunshine of my life and without him I, little flower that I am, would wither away and just become some sort of mushroom that dwells in darkness,’ but it shows loyalty and I appreciate it.” Privately he was surprised and moved that Geralt had ever put it in those terms,  _ I want you and I hope you want me but you must understand Jaskier is part of the deal,  _ as opposed to  _ Please come back, please love me again, I’ll do anything, I need you, and could you please also tolerate Jaskier if it’s no trouble? _ Yennefer had definitely swaggered into their little summit acting as if she thought having Geralt to herself was an option. Maybe that was more her pride showing than her real expectation. 

“A mushroom?” Geralt repeated. 

“It’s a metaphor. They can grow in the dark.”

“I definitely feel more like a mushroom than a flower.”

“Too bad, I made you a flower. You’re my pretty chamomile.”

“Is Yen a flower too?”

“Yes, belladonna.”

“Deadly nightshade.”

“It has flowers, interesting purple-black ones, and the name means beautiful lady. They use it in eyedrops to make their pupils look all dilated and sexy.”

“Women are putting poison in their eyes to look sexy? That’s… stupid.”

“I’ve used it too, it feels weird and you don’t want to look at bright lights but it works.”

“Much as I’d like to get into why the hell you’d do such a thing to yourself, we’re losing half the morning talking. We should pack up and get moving.” Geralt let go of him and sat back. 

“I wanted to look sexy, duh.”

“Take this as your compliment for the morning: you don’t need the help.” Geralt gave him a pat on the knee and got up. “Come on.”

Outside Ciri and Yennefer were sitting waiting, Yennefer braiding Ciri’s hair into a coronet. 

“You know we could still hear you shouting, right?” Ciri asked. “It’s not a very good way to hide that you’re fighting.”

“We weren’t shouting,” said Geralt.

“Well, Jaskier was, and you don’t deny that you were fighting.”

“Not really fighting,” said Jaskier. “I’d call that more of a quarrel, and we’ve made it up already.”

“What about?”

“Private stuff, stickybeak. Nothing concerning you.” He felt Yennefer was giving him a rather sardonic look over Ciri’s head. “Granted, I was a bit upset, but I feel better now. So Yen, once you’ve had a fight with Geralt, then we’ve all had our turn for the day.” He clapped his hands together cheerfully. 

“Nobody else needs to fight with me,” Geralt said quickly. “I’ve had my fill. I just want to break camp and get moving.”

When they were moving again, on the narrow road that wound up into the mountains, Yennefer chose to sit next to Jaskier again. He was sitting drawing twiddly borders on the pages of his current lyrics notebook until an idea came. 

“So,” she said, tucking her skirt comfortably around her legs, “I’m giving serious consideration to this little anti-vampire excursion, and I wondered if you’d let me borrow your clothes again.”

“Are you mental? I’ve seen Geralt after killing vampires, it’s a mess. The really old ones explode into powdery ashy crap that gets in your hair and up your nose and sticks to anything that’s not bone dry. The fresher ones splatter. You’re not wearing my clothes.”

“Oh, come on, give me the lavender suit that’s ruined anyway.”

“I might be able to save it with gentle sponging.”

“It made you look like a fop.”

“Rudeness won’t persuade me, madam.”

“You look much more handsome in blue or green. Not bad in red. You could pull off a nice warm yellow.”

“I look  _ fantastic  _ in gold, and buttering me up won’t work either.”

“I don’t want to ruin  _ my _ clothes.”

“You can buy it from me.”

“I’m not paying for that rag.”

“I didn’t say I’d charge you full price.” He sighed a bit wistfully. “That was the first new suit I got after we came down from Kaer Morhen and spent a few days in a decent-sized town. Possibly I did go a bit overboard, just as a reaction against four months in a place where everyone wears black and washes in ice water and thinks bacon fat counts as skincare. Then I couldn’t find an occasion to wear it because it was too nice. I suppose I was trying to dress for the life I wanted, not the life I have.”

“Much wiser to be realistic,” said Yennefer. 

“Look who’s talking, Lady Muck with her slashed sleeves and all these little poufs of silk pulled through. How many worms died?”

“None, it’s spider silk.”

“That  _ is _ witchy.”

“Can I just say that calling me a witch is like calling you a hurdy-gurdy man?”

“Precisely,” he said, and smirked.

“Wait, bacon fat?”

“Admittedly that may have been a wind-up, because deadpan bullshit is their favourite form of humour, but one of his brothers claimed bacon fat was the best form of lip balm and also the most seductive. They’re a weird bunch. You know how difficult it is to fit into a group who know each other so well that nearly everything they say is a shorthand reference to something you weren’t there for?”

“I can’t stand people like that.”

“Ciri helped a lot, because once they sort of got used to the idea of having a little girl in the house, that she was  _ real,  _ they doted on her and all wanted to play with her and teach her things. That’s approximately when she really began to go feral. We were torn between pride and horror. And laughter — mostly mine.”

“Geralt wasn’t amused?”

“He was sometimes, but there were a lot of cries of ‘Don’t teach her  _ that!’ _ and ‘That’s far too dangerous!’ to which they’d laugh and say ‘We did this when we were eight’ or ‘Harden up, you big sissy.’”

“I’d be fascinated and a little scared to meet men who consider Geralt a sissy.”

“I don’t think they really did, they just express love by giving each other copious quantities of shit. Very macho sort of place. They all pretended to be shocked when they saw me with my shirt off and I wasn’t a lissome little slip of a thing.”

“I have to admit I was mildly surprised.”

“Why?”

“You just give an impression of… insubstantiality.”

“You see, this is really weird. I stand next to Geralt, our shoulders are pretty much level, depending on footwear, but people still get the impression I’m smaller than him. I think it’s because he’s so  _ imposing  _ that people's brains are telling them anyone next to him must be smaller even if their eyes say otherwise.”

“So can I have your lavender suit or not?”

“This is the first time a woman’s so literally tried to get into my pants. All right. Go and get encrusted in undead filth in my suit. It seems to be cursed anyway.”

“I don’t plan to get encrusted. Thank you.” She smiled sweetly and as if it had always been a foregone conclusion that she would get what she wanted. 

“You’re a piece of work,” he said with a touch of admiration. 

“Anyway, you’ve sorted out your problem with Geralt, yes? That’s not going to come back to bite me?”

“Yeah, well, not completely solved it, but at least he took it seriously and tried to make me feel better. And he said an interesting thing. That he told you when he asked you to join him that you needed to accept I’d be there.”

“Well, I’m not keen on being told to accept things.”

“It just made me happy. I never  _ seriously _ worried he would choose you over me, but it still made me a bit uncomfy how  _ in love _ with you he is. It’s nice to be reassured that even in all the rosy romantic rush of reunion and reconciliation, he remembered me.”

“Could you get a few more Rs in there?”

“Maybe if he had rescued you, but I understand you mostly rescued yourself and he just helped you with the last bit.”

“The best sort of man, he makes himself useful but understands when he’s not the main character of the story.” She gave him a curious look. “Do you feel you’re the main character of your own story? Or a supporting character in his?”

“I’m a  _ teller _ of stories. I’m in them and outside them. Geralt  _ is _ a story. That’s what attracted me to him. And he’s also just a person, and so am I.”

“That’s a peculiar sort of answer.”

“It’s a peculiar sort of question. I mean, he  _ is  _ a story that I tell, and he’s my muse, he inspires me — not just to write about him, but being with him has always brought on a burst of creativity for me, for all sorts of ideas. At the same time, of course, when you tell a story, whether it’s in prose or verse or song, you’re always choosing what to put in, what to leave out, and what to make up to cover what you don’t know. I don’t sing about the fact that the White Wolf knits his own socks.”

“He does not.”

“He does. He holes up in winter with a big skein of wool from a black sheep and knits his socks for the year. He made some for me too. They’re actually very good. I’m thinking of asking for a pullover next year.”

“Like a good housewife,” said Yennefer. “If I get him some silk yarn and fine needles, I wonder if he can make me stockings.”

“Knitting stockings for one’s mistress’s legs; it’s  _ almost  _ kinky.”

“Why do you call me his mistress?”

“It’s more poetic. But I’m not a fan of ‘housewife.’”

“Househusband.”

“He’s nobody’s husband — actually,  _ can _ witchers even get married? I just realised I don’t know. They’re seen as outside the law so much of the time — at least, in terms of how other people are allowed to treat  _ them.” _

“I have no idea, and don’t want to marry him anyway. It’s not personal, I wouldn’t want to marry anyone — even for a title, Viscount Whatever.”

“Damn, in my epic quest to annoy my parents, ‘marry a witch while living in delicious sin with a man’ was my next plan.”

“Balls,” said Yennefer succinctly. 

“Yes, it would require them.”

“So you’re not upset about the annoying your parents thing any more?”

“I’m making light of it. It did really sting. I suppose it’s hard for him to see what I do on anything like the level of what he does, and all right, it’s not life and death, but music and songs and stories mean a lot to people. They tell us who we are and imagine what we might be. They help people get laid, let’s not overlook that. They keep people going during bad times, and there have been some seriously bad times recently. What if he saves a life, but I help the life to feel worthwhile and hopeful? I bring joy and pleasure and comfort into it? I really want him to understand that and not think that what I do is just fun. I mean it is! It’s the most enormous fun, when it’s not desperately frustrating or disappointing. Fun’s more important than people give it credit for, that’s all. You do let me talk an awful lot, Yen, are you really interested?”

“Are you sure you’re a man?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t worry. It’s entertaining to hear you chatter on. You’re funny and of course I’m gaining all kinds of insights about how to manage you if I need to.”

“That’s a rather chilling thing to be told.”

“I said manage, not control or destroy. I promise to be gentle,” she said, leaning over to whisper by his ear. 

“You really are spooky, you do know that.”

“You like it,” she whispered, her breath warm and ticklish. “You’re in the middle of one of those attraction-repulsion things. Sexy danger. You want to decide I’m all right and nice really so you feel safe and good about wanting me, but also turning your crank is the fact that I make you extremely nervous and deep down you’re bright enough to know there’s a good reason.”

“Turning my crank?” Jaskier repeated quietly, making an effort to collect his thoughts. He wasn’t sure if she was somehow enchanting him right now or if he felt like this for general pretty-lady-breathing-on-my-ear reasons. “So you are, in effect, playing me like a hurdy-gurdy.”

She laughed, and it was a delightful sound. It didn’t help with the erection problem he was having at all. Thank goodness he had a book to hold in his lap. 

“You’re a bit of a back-breaker, aren’t you?”

“You’ll find out.”

“Will I? When?”

“When I feel like it, of course.”

“I’m… going inside for a bit. Join me if you like.”

She didn’t, so after a minute or two’s twitchy waiting he lay down and had a very satisfactory quick quiet wank imagining himself between Yennefer and Geralt. Being inside the caravan when it was moving was never very comfortable due to general bumping and stuffiness, so he didn’t want to linger, but he lay still for a little while contemplating both the pleasure and the embarrassment of Yennefer knowing exactly how she’d affected him and what he’d needed to do about it. It created a certain sense of pressure not to be such a pushover, but then maybe she enjoyed it more that way. It certainly was a thrill feeling that someone, against all their better judgement, was so hard and/or wet for you they couldn’t possibly ignore it. He’d been doing without that himself because he and Geralt had agreed that teasing each other when the reason they couldn’t do anything about it was Ciri’s presence was unsporting and a bit creepy somehow. He missed it. Seeing Geralt fuming helplessly because he’d said or done something that titillated him beyond endurance in a public place was one of the little lights of his life. 

_ Oh shit _ , he thought belatedly. Ciri was up on the caravan roof, would she have heard what they were talking about? He was fairly sure the actually salacious part had been conducted in whispers, hopefully too low to be overheard. Hopefully she had just dismissed it all as adults being boring, rather than adults being distressingly horny. 

He tidied himself up with care and ventured back out. Yennefer was nowhere to be seen, but he could hear her voice up above. She was explaining something about magic to Ciri; the word “chaos” featured heavily. Despite her worries of the morning, she sounded perfectly kind and reasonable to him. Geralt was still riding on ahead, making sure the path ahead was clear. With the clarity of mind that sometimes followed rubbing one out, he realised he had a song bubbling up in his mind and needed to write the idea down  _ now.  _

It was one of those times when it came as easily as when a tailor cut cloth and the scissors just glided through it without so much as a snip. It was a cheerfully trashy little song about a man with a hurdy-gurdy, and the rhymes were all hurdy-gurdy, bawdy, gaudy, tawdry, Audrey (he met a girl called Audrey), dirty, flirty, naughty, haughty, hoity-toity, crank and spank; by the end he’d branched out into “strumpet” and “trumpet” because Audrey and the hurdy-gurdy man went on the road together as a musical duo and lived happily ever after. The tune was all there in his head bouncing and romping merrily around and it made him laugh with delight. It was silly and sexy and sunshiny and he was going to play it on Midsummer Eve, wherever they might be when that rolled around, to the pleasure of all and sundry. And Audrey had black hair and violet eyes because Yennefer deserved some kind of credit for putting the hurdy-gurdy into his head. 

He sat with his feet propped up strumming out the melody on the lute and trying out verses and la-la-la-ing the gaps in between, singing with the sun on his face. Up above he heard Ciri pick up the chorus and sing along, well out of the destructive register of her voice, light and sweet. Between them they turned the chorus into a round, voices weaving in and out and skipping around each other. The song might be  _ slightly _ inappropriate for a father-daughter duet, but it was so jolly it really didn’t matter. They finished up with a whoop and a laugh.

That success had him in a good mood for the rest of the day, even though the weather deteriorated towards evening. They found a stopping place amid huge grey boulders and were just beginning to get dinner together when the sky opened and heavy rain fell. Dinner turned into a vegetable soup cooked on the tiny and rather unsafe stove inside the caravan, while they all sat around feeling crowded and slightly damp. 

“Are the horses going to be safe outside overnight?” Ciri asked Geralt. She had clambered up to her bunk to be out of the way and was lying with her head hanging over the side and her hair dangling. 

“They’ll be fine. I stretched out that bit of canvas between two big rocks, so they can get under cover.”

“Yes, but vampires.”

“They don’t have all those silver charms on their harness just to make them look pretty. They’re protected. As for us, the doorway’s framed in rowan wood. Even if it tricked us into inviting it in, a vampire couldn’t cross that threshold. Besides, they don’t venture out in heavy rain if they can help it, either.”

“Good,” she said, reassured. “You seem to have thought of everything.”

What that didn’t cover, Jaskier reflected, was the awkwardness of sleeping all four of them in here. Someone was going to have to go on the floor, and he was very grudgingly preparing himself to volunteer when Ciri announced that she was going to take the floor so Yennefer could have her bed; she wanted to do it and wasn’t hearing any arguments. That felt like a reprieve. He could just sleep beside Geralt in their bed, as was comfortable and familiar by now. They slept in their shirts, and he slightly missed the closeness of sleeping naked, but on the other hand he rather liked how the bed was enclosed on all but one side so he felt like they were in a cosy little box. 

The remaining problems were: (1) he was in a frisky mood because coming up with a good new song did that to him, partly through general high spirits and partly because he wanted to celebrate with sex, (2) the sound of heavy rain exacerbated matters, (3) he was excessively conscious of Yennefer lying just up above as well as Geralt lying beside him, (4) it was really too early to go to sleep but they had nothing else to do, (5) there seemed to be no prospect of the tent tonight even if they waited for Ciri to go to sleep, (6) Geralt was having one of his especially good-smelling days, less onion and more cinnamon, which reminded him of something.

“Psst,” he whispered to Geralt, whom he was cosily spooning, facing in towards the wall.

“Hmm?” 

“I once read that unicorns smell like cinnamon. Do they?”

“What?”

“I just think I read it somewhere. Can’t remember where.”

“Go to sleep,” Geralt whispered.

“I can’t until you tell me about the unicorns.”

“I’ve never seen a living unicorn. I don’t recall ever smelling some mysterious waft of cinnamon in the forest. I saw a unicorn’s bones once, or what I was told were unicorn bones. They were unusual, dark red like cinnabar. Maybe that’s what you’re thinking of. They could just have been painted or dyed. Most unicorn horns you see on display are just narwhal teeth. True horn, or alicorn, is sought after by aristocrats because it neutralises all poisons. Most of them are just dunking a piece of whale tusk in their drinks hoping to foil a murder plot. That’s what I know about unicorns.” He yawned. “Go to sleep.”

“I wanted to tell you you smell like a unicorn. If it was true.”

“Then it’s not true. Good night.”

“Hold my hand.”

“You’re hugging me.”

“I’m needy.”

“Fine.” Geralt rolled over to face him and took his hand between both his, holding it close to his chest. “Now, go to sleep. Ciri’s asleep; she’s sensible.”

“I love how you humour me.” He was contentedly quiet for a little while. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, his eyes closed, “stop playing with my hands.”

“They’re so nice, though,” Jaskier said, happily dovetailing their fingers.

“It’s weird and it keeps me awake.”

“You two, shush,” said Yennefer from above. “I don’t know what you’re whispering about but it’ll keep till morning.”

“She can’t tell  _ me _ what to do,” Jaskier whispered, drawing stars on Geralt’s palm with his forefinger. 

“Stop,” said Geralt, closing his fist around the offending finger. 

“Well, that feels suggestive.” He tried to slide his finger in and out. 

_ “Stop,” _ said Geralt, very quietly and very close to his face. It was too dark to see more than the outline of his head and a faint reflective shine on his eyes, open now, but there were subtle indications in his tone of voice, to the trained ear, that he was trying not to laugh. Jaskier kissed his hand. “Do I have to take you outside?” The rain was rushing down faster and louder. “In that?”

“Take me outside and do what?”

“Leave you there.”

“Nooooo. Do sexy wet-shirt rain kissing.”

_ “Stop.” _ Geralt’s forehead was pressed against his and he felt exultant to have him so precisely pinned between “you’re annoying,” “you’re funny” and “I want to fuck you.”

“Okay. I’m tormenting myself too, aren’t I?”

“Exactly, idiot.”

“Even so…” He kissed Geralt’s lips very softly and delicately and got his lower lip bitten in retaliation.  _ I deserved that.  _ He subsided with a faint sigh. 

“You little shit,” Geralt murmured. 

“Mmhm.”

“How can I sleep now?”

“How can I?”

“This is all your fault.”

“Terribly sorry.”

“You’re not.”

“You’re right.” Jaskier touched Geralt’s cheek, lightly stroking and feeling the scratch of his stubble. “Don’t you wish you were in a big bed with Yen and me?” Geralt turned his head and bit his thumb. “Ow!”

“Stop making it worse, then.”

“I’m not just being cruel to you,  _ I _ can’t stop thinking about it either.”

“I’m glad about that, I really am, but you’ve picked the worst possible time to dwell on it.”

“Do you feel like you’re joining your relationship with her and your relationship with me  _ together, _ or is it more like adding  _ her _ to your relationship with  _ me?” _

“Does it matter?”

“It’s a distraction from the sweaty stuff.”

Geralt was quiet for a moment. “It seems like it  _ should _ be joining the two together, but because I was living with you and she’s come to join us, I suppose it is more like adding her.”

“Did she have a talk to you today? Like a private talk?”

“About what?”

“Anything. How she feels, what her plans are.”

“Not yet. I think she’s been talking to you more, which is… strange.”

“I know. Not that I’m not a conversational delight, but I did expect her to be hanging all over you.”

“She’s been spending the most time getting to know Ciri,” Geralt said, and Jaskier could hear a note of tender hope in his voice. “I think she could be so good for her.”

“She’s not going to hear us whispering about her, is she?”

“She’s asleep — the way we should be.” Geralt kissed his forehead. “Good night.” He rolled away again, offering Jaskier his back to hold. He snuggled up to it and breathed in the smell of his skin. He wondered what Yennefer was thinking about Ciri, about Geralt, about him — well, right now she could be dreaming, if not actually thinking. He wondered if Geralt was right about Yennefer being good for Ciri — or being good for any of them. She’d had a point about the attraction-repulsion thing. The part of his mind dedicated to being horny and hopeful was, obviously, dominant, always had been and always would, but she  _ did _ still make him nervous and she said herself it was for good reason. She was making  _ herself _ nervous. Possibly that was a good sign in its way. People who never doubted themselves were definitely more of a worry than people who at least occasionally wondered, “Am I going too far?” 

He wasn’t very good at recognising the point of “too far” himself, but at least he knew that about himself (it had been a rather long, slow learning process) and could warn people if need be. Also, his personal “too fars” were pretty uniformly about being nosy or pushy or needy or greedy, not about being cruel or destructive. He wondered whether that came from having been a bit spoiled as opposed to being neglected or ill-treated, the way it sounded like Yennefer was. 

Geralt had been terribly ill-treated too, though, and he seemed to have more restraint. When it was clear that they were really trying to bring up Ciri together Geralt had wanted to sit down and draw up a list of rules for how they would treat her — numbers one, two and three were “don’t shout at her,” “don’t hit her” and “don’t call her stupid.” Which had rather surprised Jaskier; his response to all three rules was “Why should I want to do that?” And months later, the only one he’d done was shouting, and that was more in the way of raising his voice to make sure she could hear him. It wasn’t that she was such a well-behaved child that she never made him angry, but berating her or spanking her or something had never sprung to mind in the moment. He’d given her a shake once, when she’d really frightened him with a silly climbing stunt, and that was it. Was that because of the way he was brought up (admittedly, he’d frequently been spanked for naughtiness, if not terribly hard) or because of the way he just basically  _ was _ and would have been regardless? 

Needing to think about all these responsible parental-type things in addition to the obvious and familiar consideration of “do I want to have sex with this lady and if so when, where and how?” was making his head hurt. “Is she someone I trust to be kind and trustworthy with my impressionable young daughter in the years to come?” had absolutely never been a factor before. 

_ Well, Geralt has decided he trusts me,  _ he thought drowsily,  _ so he must presumably have some criteria. And it’s more his call than mine. I, however, have never set fire to anyone, let alone an encroaching army, so I’m a bit of a different proposition.  _

He slept, and dreamed that Yennefer was spanking him vigorously, which seemed excessive. Then Geralt rubbed chamomile on his sore bottom and that was a lot more enjoyable. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sure I read when I was a child that unicorns smell like cinnamon, but now I cannot locate a skerrick of information about that (by an exhaustive process of Googling "unicorns smell like cinnamon" - a big part of the problem is that in the last few years "unicorn" became associated with a kind of rainbow-bubblegum-cotton-candy aesthetic which was highly commercialised and thus dominates search results, to the extent that if there used to be a tradition that they smelled like cinnamon it is entirely buried under all the fancy frappés and glitter).  
> During his argument with Geralt, Jaskier briefly mentions teaching as a part of his career. One of the things I am aware of by osmosis is that in the books and games Jaskier/Dandelion has an actual job in addition to wandering minstrel, good old-fashioned loverboy and Geralt's hype man, being a professor at a bardic college in a city called Oxenfurt. That's legit all I know about that, and it's not yet clear whether this will be included in the Netflix version of the character's life.  
> In my own version of the character's life, where I just make things up and give him random siblings and so on, he is not currently employed by the college, but may have been at some point in the past, as well as having been a private tutor to people who can afford that sort of thing.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciri has worries. Jaskier is sneaky. Geralt is grumpy but pliable.

They reached the mining settlement in the afternoon of the next day. It was a well-fortified town built beside a small lake that had filled up a valley between mountains. Around the main gates hung strings of what looked like white beads or shells that tinkled in the breeze.

“Teeth,” said Geralt as they passed through the gates. He was on foot, leading Roach, while the rest of them rode on the caravan, or more accurately, Ciri sat on Trout’s back as she pulled it while Jaskier and Yennefer rode. 

“How many did you bring in?” asked Ciri. 

“About half,” said Geralt. 

“That is a lot of dead vampires,” said Jaskier, impressed and a little creeped out. 

“I’ve been doing it for decades,” Geralt said modestly. “They add up.” 

“If I do one by myself,” said Yennefer, “can I save the teeth for earrings?”

“You can do whatever you like,” said Geralt, giving her a small smile. “Your kills are yours. You might like to check the current bounty before you decide.”

“Vampire teeth earrings?” Jaskier asked. “You  _ are _ dark.”

“Mistress of the night,” she said, glancing at him under her eyelashes.

“We get to stay in an inn tonight, right?” Ciri asked. “With a proper bathroom? And Yen and I can have a room to ourselves?”

“Well, she might like to share with Geralt,” Jaskier said diplomatically. He was pretty sure Geralt would vote for that, and pretty sure he wouldn’t favour the idea of a room for the adults and a separate one for Ciri to be unsupervised in, which frankly he himself would have loved and considered quite safe enough. “I suppose you two will be up with the sun tomorrow to make an early start, and I’ve no appetite for that myself.”

“I’d rather save the money,” said Geralt. 

“You’re such a cheapskate,” she grumbled, then brightened at a sign they were passing. “That place says ‘bathhouse,’ we could go there.”

“Not that place,” said Geralt. “There’s another one in town you could use.”

“What’s wrong with that one?”

“There’s nothing  _ wrong _ with it,” said Geralt, who Jaskier thought was probably feeling some conflict with his self-imposed rule number four, “answer her questions as honestly as you can.” “It just… there are some bathhouses that anyone can go to, and there are some that only admit men.”

“Oh, right. I suppose a lot of miners would want to get cleaned up after a day underground,” she said, and fortunately lost interest. They had pulled up in a space between buildings where various other travellers’ wagons and carts were, and she was looking rather wistfully at a little group of girls and boys about her own age who were sitting on a low wall outside a house and talking. 

“You should go over and say hello,” said Jaskier, taking a string bag that hung from a peg by the door and hopping down from his seat. 

“Mmm, no,” she said. 

“Why not?”

Ciri slid to the ground and gave Trout a pat. “It’s just not worth it.”

“Well, as long as we’re in a town, I’m getting some fresh bread,” he said, holding up the bag. “Come with me and I might get you a currant bun or something.”

“Jam tart?” she asked hopefully. 

“If you’re unusually good. I wonder where they hide a bakery around here.”

They wandered through a couple of streets looking around. Jaskier liked to do this when he could, both because it let him stretch his legs and because it got him out of a chunk of setting-up-camp chores. Let Yennefer help Geralt. Or more likely sit there looking pretty while Geralt did everything and felt honoured to do it for her. 

He noticed Ciri looking again at a couple of girls playing a stick-and-ball game. She looked gloomy. 

“What did you mean about not worth it?” he asked. 

“Oh, you just start to make friends and then you have to move on, so what’s the point?” she said. 

“I don’t know about that, you can have a  _ good _ time without being there for a  _ long _ time. And if they turn out to be boring you’re not stuck with them.”

“I suppose so.”

“It’d do you good to talk to people under forty.”

“Are you forty?” she asked, curiosity piqued. 

“I’m going to remain vague and non-specific about that. People your own age, anyway; if you only spend time with adults you’ll miss out on a lot of fun.”

“I think I can smell bread.”

“Me too, let’s follow our noses.”

They walked on, sniffing, and Ciri did something he’d noticed she would do; after he dropped a subject she seemed reluctant to talk about, before too long she would say a bit more about it. It was a trick he’d just recently acquired and felt pretty pleased with, because it was certainly a level of subtlety up from his normal approach of asking dozens of questions. 

“When I was at home,” she said, “I had some friends. Ordinary children who lived outside the castle. I’d wear boy’s clothes and cover up my hair with a cap so no one noticed me and go out to play with them. I  _ thought  _ they were my friends. I only found out later that they’d all hated me. Or at least they only put up with me. I was only playing at being like them, pretending we weren’t different, but they knew who I was and couldn’t forget it.” She had folded her arms around herself. 

“Downside of being born posh, I’m afraid,” Jaskier said. “My first girlfriend, whose family were tenants on  _ my _ family’s estate, did really like me, but she said something once that shocked me, that she was  _ glad _ she really liked me because if she hadn’t but I’d decided I liked  _ her _ there wouldn’t have been much she could do about it. It would be too rude to tell me no.”

“That’s awful,” said Ciri, her eyes widening. 

“I know. I mean, not every girl felt the same, I definitely had a few tell me to get stuffed, but it made me think I’d been a bit of a fool about Daisy. I liked her so much partly  _ because _ she wasn’t my class so she seemed so natural and unaffected and I thought she must really just want to be with me freely because she wouldn’t be expecting me to marry her. So that was an eye-opener.”

“Is that part of why you call yourself Jaskier instead of your title?” Ciri asked. “So girls don’t feel like they have to do what you want?”

“One reason among others. People definitely treat you differently when they’re not worried you can ruin their life. It feels like they’re being terribly rude at first, but when I got used to it I liked it a lot better. It feels more honest, which makes it pretty funny that I need to tell a fib to get it. Aha! Bakery!”

Ciri was quiet and thoughtful inside, even rather glum, although he had an attack of fond-and-indulgent-papa and bought her two jam tarts and a cheese roll. He suspected there was more coming, so he wandered out of their way back and looked around more. There was clearly money here. The miners’ guild must be pretty strong if it was spread out and not all in just a few households. Very good, better tips. He was feeling very pleasantly anticipatory about playing here. 

“Do you know how I found out they hated me?” Ciri asked him abruptly when they were sitting on a step watching a rather poorly produced puppet show in a square. 

“How?”

“I ran into them again when I was on my own. Some of the boys. And I was so pleased to see them at first. And they were just really angry with me. Well, of course they were, there was a war and they’d lost their homes and they felt like it was all because of my grandmother. But it wasn’t my fault, and I’d lost my home too, but they just hated me, and they grabbed me, and I didn’t know what they might do but I knew they wanted to hurt me, and I panicked and I started screaming.”

She had been speaking faster and faster, but she suddenly stopped. Jaskier glanced at her sideways. She looked a bit pale and she was breathing rather quickly. He was getting worried about her and wondering if he’d done something stupid, feeling proud that he could get her to confide in him. Should he try to change the subject? But what if it made things worse to ignore how upset she was?

“What happened then?” he asked. 

“It was horrible,” she said, and stopped again. 

_ Shit shit shit shit is she trying to tell me she’s been raped? _ He felt as if he might be sick. He was stuck between feeling appalled that she hadn’t said anything about it before and utter panic about what he was supposed to do about it, how he could possibly try to make her feel better about something like that. 

“I couldn’t stop screaming,” Ciri said abruptly. “And something happened, the ground shook and it was dark and — and I didn’t know what was going on, I didn’t know what was going to happen!” She sniffed hard, forcing back tears. 

That was a kind of relief, provisionally at least. “What did happen?” he asked gently. 

“When it was all over they were all dead,” Ciri said quietly. “They tried to hurt me and I screamed and screamed and they were all dead.” She let out a long, deep breath. “The horse too. I felt especially bad about the horse because I’d stolen her in the first place and she was just a horse,  _ she _ didn’t try to hurt me, but I never wanted them to  _ die. _ And her owner found me and she wasn’t even angry with me. She took care of me. She didn’t know I’d done it, she thought it was just something awful that had happened. I wanted to be safe with her but I didn’t think I could. It wasn’t long before I found Geralt. I just really, really tried not to think about it at all. I mean, maybe  _ I _ didn’t do it, maybe the way I screamed woke up something else that did it… but I don’t know. I didn’t do it on purpose! And when you said you could help me learn to control my voice I was so, so, so glad. Because whether I did it or I just called up what did it, I can make sure it’s never like that again.”

“Come here a moment,” Jaskier said. He put his arms round her and held her, as much to calm himself down as her. Her skinny little body was warm and he felt her heart beat against his. “I didn’t even know you then,” he said, “so it feels really strange to suddenly be terrified about something that happened to you. Dear little chicken, I’m so glad you’re safe.”

“Of course I’m safe, silly.” She gave him a pat on the back. 

“Have you told Geralt about it?”

“No. I want to tell Yennefer. I think she’ll understand.” She sat back from him and wiped a stray tear away with the back of her hand. 

“He would want to know so he can help you.”

“He’ll worry about me. He worries so much as it is. I don’t want to make it worse.”

“Dearest child, do you think  _ I _ never worry about you?”

“Not like he does.”

“All right, well, maybe not. I’ve got a more… sanguine temperament.” It troubled him that both Ciri and Yennefer were telling him things they wouldn’t tell Geralt. It seemed all wrong —  _ he _ wasn’t the trustworthy, steadfast, dependable one. “Why do you want to tell Yennefer?”

“Yennefer says magic comes from chaos, which is a force of nature. Mages are people who can channel chaos and use it. That made so much sense to me, if what came to me — or came  _ out _ of me — was chaos. And it makes so much sense that music would help control it safely, not just because it’s my voice, but because music is the opposite of chaos. It’s got patterns and rhythms and rules. It’s harmony, right?”

“Well, yes. I didn’t know that about chaos. Geralt says  _ I’m  _ chaos personified, not that anyone’s ever been able to channel  _ me _ , mind you.”

“I think if I tell Yennefer, she can  _ help _ me tell Geralt. I just want to be able to talk to her properly in private where he won’t overhear us till I’m ready.”

“Ah, hence wanting to share an inn room.”

“Well, that and it would just be nice to have her to myself. I know that’s a bit greedy, you were right that she’d probably rather be with him.”

“We’ll sort something out. We’re all just getting used to living together.” He paused. “Ciri, is part of why you’re not talking to other children that you’re afraid you’ll hurt them too?”

“Oh. No, it was just sort of that one thing about friends led to another. But I do wonder whether anyone will really be my friend, even if I’m doing your trick and not saying who I am. Maybe I’m just not the sort of person who can have friends,” she concluded heavily. 

“I wouldn’t make your mind up about that just yet. Yes, you’re in a much trickier situation than most people, but I think it’s actually harder, I mean less likely, to go through life without acquiring at least one or two friends. Besides, I’m your friend, you know.”

“No, you’re my dad,” she said, leaning sideways and putting her head on his shoulder. “I did have a real friend for a while, I think, while I was lost. His name was Dara and he saved me. We went through a lot of dangers together, just like a story, just like you and Geralt in your adventures. But he left because he thought I was just like my grandmother, who he hated, because I thought we had to kill someone to be safe. A monster that looked human, and had killed other people, and would kill us without caring. I thought Dara cared about  _ me. _ I cared about him. I wanted us both to be safe.” She sighed. “I shouldn’t have told Dara to kill him. I should have been brave enough to do it myself.”

Jaskier put his arm around her, feeling helpless. A girl Ciri’s age should have trouble keeping friends because they fell out over games or who liked who best, not because of life-and-death ethical conflicts. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That’s just rotten. It doesn’t mean it’ll be the same way with everyone. There’ll be people who admire you for having the guts to take down monsters.”

“If Geralt ever lets me,” she muttered.

“Well, he’s your dad too, and like me, he’s just trying to work out what to do so you can have the best possible life, while having  _ no _ bloody idea most of the time what that will be. Sometimes we’ll fuck up. I’m probably fucking up right now by saying ‘fuck up,’ for that matter. Bear with us, eh?”

“I’ll try to,” she said, giving him a wan little smile.

“And I’ll deal with him about the inn, so you can have all the private talk with Yen you need. Promise.” He patted her shoulder. “I can do that much.”

“Pretty please,” he said, and gave Geralt his best smile. 

“No,” said Geralt. 

“Oh come on, why not?”

“We can’t afford it right now. We came here to earn some coin, which we don’t have.” Geralt was sitting at the little table that folded down from the wall inside the caravan, trying to do accounts with the tatty little notebook and pencil he used for the purpose, full of columns of his small, cramped handwriting, dead black and deeply indented in the paper because he always pressed down so hard.

“We don’t have to pay for the rooms until we leave,” Jaskier pointed out. “You’ll go and cut a swathe through the local vampire population and bring back a sack of teeth, I’ll brighten everyone’s lives with my singing and make a stack of tips, problem solved.”

“You want us to spend money we don’t have yet. It’s a bad idea,” Geralt said stubbornly. “Look at all this, you spend money like water.”

“Ahem, no.” In the name of grabbing an unfair advantage, which should be done as close as possible to the beginning of all negotiations, Jaskier slipped in between Geralt and the table and sat down astride his lap with his hands clasped behind his neck. “I spend money like a man who knows quality when he sees it. Besides, most of that is legitimate expenses, lute strings don’t grow on trees and I need to be presentable when I perform. And you’re higher maintenance than I am — you eat enough for three people, you go through clothes like nobody’s business and you buy peculiar potion ingredients and occult doodads.”

“Do you want to talk about what you spent on cheese in the last month alone?” Geralt asked. 

“You are surely not asking me to live without cheese.”

“Live on cheap cheese.”

“That’s a false economy, cheap cheese is nasty and I don’t eat it, therefore the money is wasted.” He tried again. “Come on, Geralt, I’m not asking just for me, it means an awful lot to Ciri. And wouldn’t you like to provide Yen with a bit more comfort? Show her that you know how to look after a woman?”

Geralt narrowed his eyes at him. “Has she said something?”

“No, I’m asking you because Ciri asked me and I promised I’d get you to say yes. Don’t make me a liar.”

“Shouldn’t make that kind of promise, then.”

“Don’t be so mean,” Jaskier breathed against his lips, and kissed him. Geralt made a pretty passable attempt not to respond; his lips did twitch slightly but that could be just reflexive. “I’ll do such nice things for you.” Another soft kiss. “Just spoil you for hours. Full-body massage, suck your cock, your balls, rim you, fuck you deep and slow and hard.”

“You wouldn’t be able to go slowly after doing all that,” Geralt pointed out. “You’d be too excited. If you hadn’t come already.” His posture shifted very slightly, just a little tilt of his hips, and Jaskier felt greatly encouraged. 

“Okay, that’s true, you know me too well.” Another kiss, slipping the tip of his tongue between Geralt’s lips as a tease. “But I can definitely promise deep and hard. You haven’t had a deep, hard, relaxed and comfortable fuck from me in a couple of months. You must be dying for it.” Geralt made a small non-committal sound in his throat, not even quite a “Hmm.” “Think about how good it feels on your back on a big soft warm bed, with a light, with lots of kissing, with me on top of you loving you inside and out. No hurry. We can fall asleep together afterwards. I’ll stay inside you and stroke your hair and not talk at all.”

“You could talk a little,” Geralt said. “At least to tell me you love me and say good night.”

“Can I take that as a yes? Or should I take this big fat erection coming up as a yes?” He kissed him a little more deeply, stroking with his tongue, and felt Geralt’s hands settle on his bottom and press their bodies closer together. His lips parted a little more to let him in, and he leaned into the kiss joyfully, especially at the brief catch in Geralt’s breathing and the soft grunt and sigh that followed it. 

“This is the most manipulative shit you’ve ever done to me,” Geralt said when they came up for air.

“Not manipulative, seductive. Doesn’t it feel nice?”

“Manipulative. Because you’ve taken the question from ‘do we spend this money?’ to ‘how badly do I want to get fucked?’” He squeezed Jaskier’s buttocks and rolled his hips slowly against him. 

“It’s strategic. And you’re still — mmm — you’re still giving me sweet kisses so how much do you really mind?”

“Bolt the door and fuck me on the floor,” Geralt suggested. 

“My gosh, your  _ voice  _ — but no. No, I’ll blow you in fairness, but if you want full satisfaction, you know what to say.”

“This is really low of you.”

“Yes, I fully admit that. But I’m doing it all out of love.”

Geralt exhaled a long sigh. “I don’t  _ want _ to be cheap,” he said. “I’m trying to be more responsible with money because in the old days if I ran short it didn’t inconvenience anyone but me. Sometimes Roach.”

“Or me.”

“I wasn’t responsible for you. Making sure you didn’t get your head torn off, that I reluctantly accepted after a while. Not making sure you had a place to sleep and enough to eat and something put by for emergencies.”

“You’re trying to be a good father and it’s commendable. This time, though, I truly do think you can relax a bit. If all else fails, I’ve got a few trinkets I’m prepared to briefly hock. But I believe you’re going to get a big payday and everything will be fine.” He kissed him to add encouragement. “And I’ll fuck you to your heart’s content, so good you’ll have a silly little smile on your face for days. Rendering you completely unintimidating, sorry, but that’s the price you pay for getting all loved up.”

“What if,” Geralt said, sliding his hands to rub Jaskier’s thighs, “we booked a room for  _ them _ and you and I went to the bathhouse and then came back here to sleep?”

“Went to the bathhouse?”

“Yes. Where you could fuck me in front of an audience.” He watched Jaskier’s face. “What?”

“I’m sorry, my mind just went blank at the same time my cock got  _ extremely _ hard. Are you honestly offering to get fucked in front of a bunch of strange men? All sweaty in a steam room? Everyone gets to see you with your legs spread moaning and panting and coming for me?”

“No. I’m messing with you to get back at you for messing with me.”

“Oh, that was  _ cruel!” _ Jaskier exclaimed. “Dangling one of my best fantasies in front of me and snatching it away.”

“It serves you right,” said Geralt. 

“Just because  _ you _ don’t have fantasies.”

“I just fantasise about things I can look forward to coming true. Like a blowjob in fairness.”

“Do we have a deal? Did I win you over?”

“Bolt the door and find out.”

“Ummm… All right.” He staggered to the door, feeling flustered and exhilarated and mildly suspicious that this was not going as he intended, and shut the bolt firmly. 

“Come here and I’ll take care of you at the same time,” Geralt said, sitting down on their bed and patting a spot beside him. 

“We’ve never actually done this on this bed! I love firsts,” Jaskier said, undoing his pants on the way back in his eagerness to be ready.

“Don’t expect it to happen too often. You provoked me just enough,” Geralt said, pulling him down and kissing him before rolling onto his back. 

“Oh yes. Hold on, don’t stick your boots on the pillows, I put my face there.”

“You’re about to put your face on my dick,” Geralt said, but obliged him and propped his heels against the wall. 

“That’s good, thank you.” He shuffled into place, head down between Geralt’s thighs and his knees on either side of his body, fumbling his trousers open and giving a little breathless chuckle of delight as his cock bobbed out. “You’re so  _ stiff.” _

“You like stating the obvious, don’t you?” Geralt traced his fingers up and down Jaskier’s rosy shaft. 

“I like complimenting my beautiful man on my favourite features, this one of which I will now suck.” He huffed warm breath over the head of it and gave it a soft wet swish of his tongue before taking it in his mouth, and tensed pleasantly at the touch of Geralt’s lips. “Mmm…” One hand cupping under his soft, heavy balls, one squeezing the warm, thick shaft, running his tongue round and round under the rim of the glans, and he felt Geralt’s breath gust out of him, tickling his balls before he pulled his cock in deep. He hummed softly as he twisted his hand. The place was new but not new, the place he’d slept so many nights in Geralt’s arms and woken up dreamy and hard and as often as not started kissing him and rubbing against him before remembering they weren’t alone and he was just going to have to roll away and breathe slowly and deeply and try not to notice too much the smells of Geralt’s skin and hair and the warmth of his body and the calm, steady rhythm of his drowsy breathing, until he could settle down a bit. 

It was very, very satisfying to think that he’d finally get to come here, particularly in Geralt’s eager, sucking mouth, thrumming as he moaned, deep and rough.  _ You to me and me to you, we know exactly how to pleasure each other the most, aren’t we just perfectly matched? Whoops, bit of a slurp there. He doesn’t mind. Goodness knows he’s slurping me too. Oh, I love you, I love your cock, I love your balls, I love your big thick thighs, I love your taste and your smell, I want to  _ tell  _ you but my mouth is very busy and so is yours.  _ There was such a pleasing loop effect; the better he made Geralt feel, the more he moaned and the deeper and harder he sucked and the better it felt for Jaskier. That was  _ very _ deep. He lifted his head a moment and asked, “Are you trying to take it down your throat?”

“Mhm.”

“If you do that you’re going to have a husky voice for hours. And I’ll know why and it’ll be so fucking hot. It’s the vocal equivalent of a big love-bite on your neck. That’s what you’re offering?”

“Mhm.”

“You’re perfect, I love you, I’ll stop talking and suck you like you deserve.” This was a special treat Geralt hadn’t given him for a while; he’d been very enthusiastic about it over the winter, possibly because it was his new trick that made him feel sexy and special, which Jaskier considered fairly adorable and to be encouraged, possibly because he was leaning deep into this shame thing he had about it, which Jaskier considered a bit unnecessary but generally harmless. Either way he’d been hoarse a lot of the time and every now and then one of his brothers would give him a baffled look and ask if he was getting a cold (because, lucky bastards, they apparently didn’t catch cold) and Geralt would say no and his ears would get delicately pink and Jaskier would feel indelicately elated. 

Winter had also been heavy love-bite season because Jaskier was wearing a scarf every day, including indoors because the place was bloody freezing and no good for a delicate instrument like his voice, and Geralt took that as an invitation to make a complete mess of his neck. Well, fair enough, there had also been express verbal invitations and urgings. He didn’t think either of them was really a masochist in the sense of liking to be  _ hurt _ during sex but both of them got a silly little thrill out of doing things that left them sore or left a mark to remember them by. They’d backed off a lot from both since leaving Kaer Morhen, for obvious reasons, but then Geralt had given him a small love-bite the other night, carefully placed below the usual neckline of his shirts, and he’d been absent-mindedly fingering the tender spot since. And now he was getting swallowed up again, Geralt tightly gripping his hips and grunting softly with effort, and he wanted to shower him with praise — it wasn’t even that this  _ felt _ that much better than normal, it was Geralt doing something special for him that made  _ him _ feel something so intense, whether it was shame or pleasure or what, that sent a hot charge through him and made his heart pound and meant he was soon coming embarrassingly quickly. He had to jerk his head up quickly for fear he would accidentally bite, which meant the ecstatic and undignified sound he made was also unmuffled. He needed to lean his head against Geralt’s thigh, panting and dazed, while he felt Geralt steadily push his hips up and ease his weakly twitching cock free from his mouth. 

“That was fast,” Geralt said, sounding breathless and husky. 

“It was just that good. I told you you were perfect. You want a kiss?”

“Mm.”

Jaskier scrambled round and bumped his head on the underside of the bunk above and lay down to kiss Geralt deeply, feeling him yield and sigh. Geralt had never directly  _ said _ that kisses after oral sex were one of his favourite things in the world but Jaskier felt pretty sure about it, and the world was probably divided into people who thought it felt intimate and lovely and people who thought it was messy and icky, so he was glad to be on the same side of the line with him. 

“Love you,” he breathed against Geralt’s lips as he tugged his shirt up to stroke his bare chest. “You’re  _ such _ a good boy.”

“Good boy?”

“Very good boy. Sweet good boy. Mmm… I love your sweet hot mouth so much.” They were both panting, open-mouthed, and he rubbed his tongue greedily against Geralt’s, then felt his hand taken and pulled down to Geralt’s stiff cock. “Don’t want me to suck it some more?”

“Kiss me and rub it.” Geralt’s voice was rough and thick, and he gripped Jaskier’s hand tight around his spit-slick shaft and pushed into it.

“You’re the best boy there ever was. Gorgeous cuddly big-dick boy.”

“Don’t make me laugh.” Jaskier could feel his mouth stretching into a smile under his kisses.

“I stand by everything I said. Specially the big dick. Great big… cream horn.”

“Fuck up.” Geralt was halfway between laughing and moaning as Jaskier pumped him. 

“I will not. It’s true.” He kissed the corners of Geralt’s mouth before giving him a deep, sucking kiss, swirling their tongues together. “My darling boy, I love you more than I can ever say.” Geralt groaned deeply, his hips kicking up, and he felt hot liquid spurting against his palm. “That’s it, that’s it. There you go… oh, you needed that, didn’t you, my love? So  _ much.” _

Geralt was panting deeply, his moans fading and a soft dew of sweat on his skin. Jaskier dotted soft kisses to his upper and lower lips and nuzzled against his nose.

“I see a sweet and deeply satisfied boy.”

“Why are you… ah… why are you pressing the ‘boy’ thing so hard?”

“I don’t know.” He squeezed out a last thick drop onto Geralt’s belly. “Sudden onslaught of sentimentality. Deep love. And I feel like you didn’t get enough time in your life to just be a boy, so I might as well give you some back here and there.”

Geralt gathered him into his arms and kissed him, with a slow, deep exhalation from his nose, and settled comfortably, his eyes drifting closed.

“Geralt? Love of my life? Don’t go to sleep, it’s still daylight.” He dug out his handkerchief with his clean hand and wiped the messy one, then began to do the same for Geralt’s belly before giving up and bending to lick it clean, Geralt stroking his head. 

“I’m not. Just calm.” He blinked slowly and looked lazily at Jaskier as he settled back with his head on his shoulder. “I bet you think you’ve won.”

“It’s not a fight. But will you say yes?”

“What was I supposed to say yes to, again?” He stroked Jaskier’s cheek with the backs of his fingers. 

“Two inn rooms. You and me, Ciri and Yen. Well, and the horses get to stay in the stable, we won’t forget them.”

“Oh, that. I could still just say no. After getting what I wanted.”

“You wouldn’t really. You’ve got a basic code of honour that prohibits it. Also if you say yes you get more of this plus cock inside you. It’s incredibly reasonable at the price.”

“It’s not a transaction. Be honest, you did all this just because you wanted to.”

“Not  _ just _ because. By great good fortune, my  _ strategy _ involved doing lots of things I would enjoy doing anyway.”

“That’s just you all over. The pleasure-seeker.” Geralt was still stroking his cheek, and he closed his eyes and tilted his head into it. “The thing I’m a little disappointed about is that I can’t have you and Yen to myself in a room again.”

“That’s fairly pleasure-seeking of you too.”

“I know. It’s unsettling.”

“You mean that, don’t you? Not in a jokey way.” Jaskier settled down beside him with his head propped up on one arm. 

“Well… yes. I keep looking for the point where it goes wrong or I find I’m not happy after all.”

“Why on earth would you  _ look _ for that? We’re not even a week into this arrangement, you have a beautiful girlfriend and a gorgeous boyfriend who are both quite wild about you, and you should be enjoying the fireworks.”

“I can’t quite get it through my head that it’s happening and it’s working. Or that I set out to  _ get _ this instead of it happening to me by fate or someone else’s doing. I actually went and asked Yen to live with me — and I didn’t know if the two of you would get to like each other this much but I was hoping for it. Me, I was  _ hoping _ for it. For most of my life I didn’t even hope to have a close friend, at least not anyone who didn’t walk the same path, and these days I’m thinking things like ‘I hope my two loves grow to like each other because sex with the two of them together would be wonderful.’ Who thinks that? Someone like  _ you,  _ not  _ me. _ I wouldn’t have thought I had the right, let alone the  _ chance.” _

Jaskier chuckled fondly. “Yeah, I can see how that would be a bit disconcerting. But look, you’re used to me now, aren’t you? You’re used to loving me, and me loving you, it’s comfortable and doesn’t feel like it’s wrong or unreal or you don’t have a right to be this happy?”

“I’m used to it, and it’s comfortable, but no, I still can’t believe I have a right to be this happy.  _ This _ happy. For decades I didn’t even truly know what people meant when they talked about being happy, the most I imagined was an absence of pain, a sense of contentment, not the… I thought all the poetry and shit about the blazing fire of love was just fanciful, or something I was incapable of feeling, but it’s so real. I started to feel what that happiness was like with Yen, but then I ruined it and thought it was just what I deserved, I was back where I belonged in the cold and the dark. And I was angry about it and I thrashed around trying to blame you, but that’s what it felt like in my gut. And then you… you forgave me and I started to love you and you gave me such incredible pleasure and comfort and constantly coaxed me to enjoy being alive. Amazing. Unreal. Still. And if it all fell apart tomorrow, and both of you left me, my heart would break, but I’d think ‘Honestly, what did I expect?’”

“Well, I forbid you to have such sad thoughts. That’s all, I simply forbid it,” Jaskier said. “I order you to — well, not take my love for granted, but take it as a fait accompli that you absolutely deserve someone to love you and it’s not strange at all that I do. And don’t go looking for it all to go wrong. Honestly! What a silly way to think. You’ll be jumping at shadows and thinking any little fight is a break-up.” He paused. “Oh.  _ Oh.  _ You did think that. The other day. I wondered why you jumped so fast to telling me to fuck off back to my real life.”

Geralt shrugged one shoulder. 

“I thought you were just  _ angry _ with me, not heartbroken.”

“Don’t worry, I was angry too.”

“You need to learn, I mean really learn it by heart, that nothing is realer than how much I love you and want you to be my future. I was thrashing around too and saying more than I meant.”

“You don’t have to back off from it. You did mean what you said. It’s… a conflict.”

“Ugh,” Jaskier said, flopping onto his back. “I know it is and I don’t want it to be. I want to be able to just  _ pick _ my real life and have no regrets and not have any of the other lives come bothering me any more.”

“Any? How many of the damn things do you have?”

“There’s my life as your beloved boyfriend and Ciri’s dear old dad. There’s my life as the magnificent Jaskier the bard, always on the move, because this much love and music demands to be shared around. There’s, ugh, my life as a de Lettenhove which I  _ really _ hope doesn’t ever require me to do anything, I mean surely with a good lawyer they could find a way to disinherit me, although that seems rather hard on my little brother.”

“I thought you just had sisters.”

“I have four sisters who were born while they were trying to have me, the heir. Then years afterwards came Eugene, he’s the spare. I think he was actually a bit of an oops, Mother certainly was not happy to be expecting again, but Father was pleased to have an alternative to me, because I was  _ not _ working out. I hardly know him, I wasn’t home much by that time. Off to Oxenfurt and the wide world beyond. But look, I have made up my mind. I mean it. I love you and our girl and that’s real life. I wouldn’t say I  _ love  _ Yen, but I  _ like  _ her and I think the old charm is working on her. She is the greatest test of my ability to overcome a bad first impression.”

“Isn’t that my title?”

“When I met you I annoyed the shit out of you but I annoyed you as a good-looking, well-dressed young fellow with his wits about him. ‘Semi-conscious guy with a swollen-up neck and bloody spit on his shirt’ is a bit worse.”

“On the other hand, since you couldn’t talk at the time that reduced your ability to annoy her.”

“I managed,” Jaskier said with a smile and a wink. “Never underestimate my power both to charm and to annoy.”

“I’m the last person who would do that.” Geralt sat up and looked down at him. “Well, I’ll try to think that I deserve this kind of happiness. You know more about it than I do.”

“Of course I do. I’m the happiness expert. Come on now, is the answer yes?”

“The answer is yes. We should probably go and ask about rooms before they fill up for the night.”

“I’ll fill  _ you _ up for the night, my good sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I question the wisdom of giving Jaskier _another_ sibling I just made up, but I think Eugene is a funny name. [And I had a train of thought that led nowhere but left me associating the name Eugene with him.](https://chamomileteainabuttercup.tumblr.com/post/633472407512956928/i-cannot-lay-my-hands-on-it-right-now-but-a-few)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shortish chapter almost entirely about happy sex because I've lost whatever semblance I ever had of a plot. I don't think you came here for that anyway.  
> Features a minor injury sustained during sex due to happy idiots being spontaneous and not actually negotiating or planning anything.   
> oh and a small rodent dies in a flashback  
> IT'S MOSTLY KISSING AND FUCKING THOUGH

“And so,” he boasted to Yennefer as he carried her bag up the inn stairs, “Ciri is happy, Geralt is happy, I am happy to have made  _ them _ happy, altogether happiness abounds. Are  _ you _ happy, Madam Yen? If not, I may just have the solution; I’m on a roll.”

“I’m  _ quite _ happy,” she said, following him into the room, “but vaguely curious what your solution would be if I weren’t.”

“A song, a dance, a joke, a kiss, vigorous frigging? There are ways and means.”

“Shush,” she said, “what if Ciri walks in and hears you?”

“She’s helping Geralt with the horses, don’t worry.” He dropped her bag on the end of the bed and looked around, his hands on his hips. “Not bad. Very comfy. Our room’s a bit smaller; Geralt wanted you to have the nicer one. All set for chit-chat and confidences and whatever else girls talk about together. Hair, ponies, harnessing the primal forces of chaos.”

Yennefer raised her lovely eyebrows. “She’s been confiding in you too?”

“She has a bit. That’s a little girl with a lot on her mind. Listen, Yen, can you promise me something?”

“Oh, I don’t make blind promises.”

“Hear me out, then. Just… be really gentle with her, all right? She’s feeling afraid and ashamed. It seems that a while before she met up with Geralt, there was a bit of an incident. He doesn’t know about it yet. She was in danger, she panicked, she set something magic loose, and some people died. She wants to tell you all about it. Just… well, I have no idea what shocks you, but I’m telling you about it because on the remote off-chance that that  _ would _ shock you, I don’t want you to  _ act _ shocked and make her feel badly about it.”

“When you say ‘some people,’ do you know who?” Yennefer asked.

“Some boys who tried to attack her. I’m not really sure, because she didn’t describe it that way and I’m not sure she’d  _ understand _ it that way, but I think there might have been a bit of a sexual threat. Made me very uncomfortable to hear about it.”

“Then the last thing I’ll make her feel about it is  _ badly. _ She should be proud. She defended herself as she had every right to do. If more girls had that kind of power it would be a much safer world.”

“Well, there’s defending yourself on purpose, knowing what you’re doing, being able to stop if you’ve done enough, and then there’s having a screaming fit, passing out and waking up to find corpses strewn about.”

“Ah. Right, that’s not really…  _ empowering. _ ”

“No, and what I can teach her doesn’t go far enough — I can probably help her to  _ control _ a reaction like that but I don’t know where it comes from or how it works. I’m not sure if Geralt does either. I don’t really understand the different kinds of magic, if mages and witchers operate very differently, if it’s just like playing different instruments and you could learn any of them — well, not that anyone can learn  _ any _ instrument, I’m pretty versatile but I’m terrible with brass, the embouchure just eludes me — my point is, this  _ is _ the kind of thing you understand, right?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Oh, thank goodness.” He gave her a broad smile of relief, taking her by the shoulders. “Because I’m  _ so _ out of my depth.” He leaned in and kissed her gratefully. 

“I don’t mind at all,” she said, “but when did you decide that now you kiss me all the time?”

“Not nearly all the time. If you want I can demonstrate ‘all the time,’ but you’ll really need to have the evening free.”

She gave him a look he couldn’t quite pin down; she was pleased by him but also amused by him in a way he possibly didn’t intend. It was close to the way elegant older women sometimes looked at him, and Yennefer certainly was older, but the key difference was that she wasn’t  _ flattered _ by his attention and enthusiasm. She enjoyed it but she didn’t need it. “Perhaps at a time when Geralt can join us,” she said. “Seems impolite.” She placed her hand on his chest, though, and kissed him lightly before pushing him back. 

“I’ll keep him warm for you tonight. Anything you’d particularly like me to do on your behalf?”

“Pull his hair.”

“Pull his hair? Interesting. A touch more aggressive than I usually am, but I’ll try to work it in.”

“He loves it. Makes him hiss. He’s surprisingly keen on light touches of pain for someone who supposedly has a high resistance to it.”

“Honestly, I think that’s just like the emotions thing. He feels it all right, he just doesn’t show it easily, or he thinks he’s got to put up with it stoically because it’s his lot in life. If he’s going ssss, ooh, this hurts because of a hair pull, I think that’s rather nice because he’s  _ not _ being stoic, he’s just reacting. He actually had a problem with that when we were first together, trying to hide his face when I — ah, footsteps.” He turned away from her as Ciri came in at the door, carrying her own bag. “Hello, chicken, did I come through for you or what?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Oh, I like the ‘of course.’ Makes one feel reliable.”

“It wasn’t that hard to talk him into it, was it?”

“It took me a while. He’s stubborn.”

“It probably only took so long because you were having fun buttering him up and calling him silly pet names, and he was having fun pretending not to know what you were talking about and bluffing you,” Ciri said, quite shrewdly. 

“No, we were having a sensible, mature discussion about such topics as the family budget and the price of cheese. I may have wandered into expressions of affection at times, but I can’t be blamed for that, can I?”

“I suppose not, but it is embarrassing.”

“Oh, we’re monstrously embarrassing, but I suggest it’s preferable to have parents who are in love and be a bit embarrassed, because it’s bloody grim when they don’t even seem to like each other.”

“Did your parents not like each other?”

“Well, if they did I couldn’t tell. They were very polite to each other. There wasn’t any sort of fighting or nastiness, it was just like two people who were stuck working together and trying to make the best of it while finding one another utterly uninteresting. They were too bored to even dislike each other any more. My old nurse and her husband, by contrast, were very fond of each other and made each other laugh and bucked each other up when they were sad, and I think I was six before I understood both pairs of people were actually married, I thought Nurse and Tom were just best friends. Despite the fact they had three children together. I was a remarkably dense little boy.”

“You sound like it,” said Yennefer. 

“Well, at least half the time I wasn’t paying any attention, I was making up stories about the Sky Kingdom with my sisters’ dolls. We filled up books until I started music lessons and lost interest.” He suddenly thought of what she’d said about the pigsty and felt awkward. No music lessons or dolls in there. 

“I had an imaginary kingdom too,” she said, surprising him. “It was a miniature one, though, a magic meadow full of flower fairies and toadstool people which I made myself, put together with grass and twigs. People thought I was touched in the head.”

“Well,  _ I  _ think you were a bright and resourceful child who deserved encouragement. Flower fairies! I never would have guessed it. Toadstool people, certainly.” He leaned over conspiratorially. “I’m going to tell you both something I shouldn’t tell you. When Geralt was little he had a knight piece that had got lost from a chess set, and it was his treasure and he loved it. I saw it in his room.”

“How can you lay bare a man’s darkest secrets like that?” Yennefer asked dryly. 

“I know about that anyway,” said Ciri. “Its name is Bedevere.”

“He didn’t tell  _ me _ he’d named it. Secretive bastard.” That only made it cuter — which was probably why Geralt had held it back. He’d tried to pass it off to Jaskier as a sort of good-luck charm but he knew a beloved childhood treasure when he saw one, or rather saw how Geralt handled it when he took it away from him and told him to stop being bloody nosy and put it carefully back on its shelf. 

“He said another of his  _ jokes _ to me about that,” said Ciri. “‘Jaskier says I’m the most secretive man he ever met. Well, I can’t tell you what that means to me.’” She rolled her eyes, and Yennefer gave an unexpected little snicker. 

“Don’t encourage him,” Jaskier and Ciri said together. 

“I will if I want to,” she said defiantly. “Anyway, Jaskier, be off. You did your part getting us here and we’re grateful; leave the rest to me.” She gave him a firm pat on the back and a push towards the door. 

Geralt was often a little puzzled by the rituals and routines other people liked to follow. They seemed like a lot of effort that wasn’t all that practical. If Yennefer wanted to brush her hair one hundred strokes every night, that was harmless and he was very happy watching her do it, but one hundred wasn’t a magic number and it really only took a few strokes to remove any tangles. His own hair was more of an effort to comb; Yennefer’s was silky while his was more coarse and also substantially more likely to be matted with something offensive or to have twigs or bugs or, once, a shrew in it. Maybe for her it was meditative, the repetitive motion. He’d watched her do it every night since she’d joined them, and was thinking of offering to do it for her, but probably only if they got to be alone together for the night. Then, after the hundred strokes were done, he could gather her soft hair in his hand and lift it aside to kiss her neck. There was a vividly erotic fantasy for you; why Jaskier needed his ones to have props, set-dressing and a supporting cast was a mystery. 

But then Jaskier was all about those rituals too, both the ones for his own maintenance (like the excessive attention to shaving and skincare) and those he’d appointed himself in charge of for Geralt’s benefit, which included combing his hair and the removal of foreign bodies therein. The shrew had bitten Jaskier’s thumb. He’d reflexively flung it away from him and it hit a rock and lay on the ground twitching and Jaskier got all upset that he’d killed it, so Geralt had stepped on it quickly and said, “It’s all right, you didn’t kill it, I did,” which apparently was not as reassuring to Jaskier as he had hoped. It was one of the few times he’d actually felt Jaskier saw him as monstrous, even after he’d explained the shrew was definitely going to die and killing it immediately was a lot more humane than letting it go slowly, if you cared about being humane to a shrew, which it seemed like Jaskier did. That had been a very uncomfortable evening. Jaskier had still insisted on finishing what he’d started, clumsily, with a bandage on his thumb, while he had sat there wondering if this, of all things, was going to be what put Jaskier irretrievably off him, and not enjoying the combing and the cared-for feeling the way he normally did at all. 

In the end, though, once Geralt’s hair was thoroughly groomed, Jaskier had hugged him from behind and said “That was the most brutal but also, I think, most sincere effort anyone’s ever made to spare my feelings. Thanks.” And he hadn’t gone off and left him, despite everything. What had that been, their first or second summer in love? Maybe it had been spring. It seemed like both a short and a long time ago. Time with Jaskier seemed to have more time  _ in _ it. 

And now he was doing another of his unnecessary rituals that he obviously believed meant he was taking better care of Geralt, while Geralt sat on the side of the bed and watched him, bemused, as he busied around arranging candles and hanging towels by the fireplace to warm and adding pretty-smelling oil to the bathwater. He thought about how much Jaskier had whined about the spartan bathing arrangements at Kaer Morhen, and how much his brothers had teased him about actually making a private tub for him from a barrel, and how satisfying it had been to frustrate them by calmly agreeing with whatever they said — “Geralt’s in love,” “Yes, I am,” “You’d do anything for that little crumpet,” “Gladly,” “You really are love’s bitch, aren’t you?” “Indeed.” The closest he’d got to biting back was to enquire whether one’s own wit warmed the bed as well as his bard did, especially after a hot bath. He’d won that one.

“Why do you do all that?” he asked Jaskier, knowing he’d get the same answer as always. 

“I want you to enjoy it,” said Jaskier, scattering bath salts. 

“You think I wouldn’t enjoy having a bath in plain hot water?”

“You wouldn’t enjoy it as much as you possibly could, and that’s always my aim — to bring you to the highest level of pleasure and comfort possible. No half measures for us, my love. And you do always enjoy it, I happen to know that, because I have seen and felt the proof.”

The air was growing warm and soft with the steam from the bathtub. Jaskier pulled a little table over beside the tub and arranged a platter of bread and cheese and a decanter of red wine. He was doing things thoroughly. Geralt found that he was feeling vaguely enchanted, whether it was by the warmth or the soft kiss of the air or by the vee of warm brown curls exposed in the front of Jaskier’s shirt and by his hands and forearms bared by his rolled-up sleeves; his  _ hands _ with their clever fingertips and soft palms and the delicate but hard bones of his wrists and the tracery of blue-green veins on the fine white skin of his inner wrists and the firm muscle of his forearms and at this point he realised he was staring. 

“Jaskier,” he said, “take your shirt off.”

“My shirt?”

“I think I’d enjoy it.”

“Well then.” Jaskier loosened the neck of his shirt and pulled it off over his head, then held out his arms to show himself off. “All for you.” He spun the shirt around his hand and threw it at Geralt, who batted it away. 

“Why do the candles matter?” Geralt asked, as Jaskier went around with a taper lighting them. 

“Oh, two reasons. The light is very flattering, it lends warm tones to the skin. And then, the fact there isn’t very  _ much _ light, just enough, means that your lovely eyes are beautifully dilated. No belladonna required.” He reached up and blew out the oil lamp hanging from the ceiling. The sky was still light outside, but he’d closed the shutters.

“And the wine?”

“The wine gets you all silly and horny. The bread sustains you, and the cheese, well, the cheese is  _ expensive. _ You could slip out of your clothes now.” Jaskier poured himself a glass of wine, took a sip, and stood watching him, swirling the red in his glass. 

He took off his boots and socks first, because there was no known way to take those off sexily so they should be got out of the way as fast as possible. He felt he owed that much in exchange for all Jaskier’s effort, unnecessary as it was. He stood and stripped off his shirt, pulling it over his head and then rolling it down slowly over his arms, because Jaskier appreciated the way his chest was pushed up when his arms were together in front of him, and shook back his hair because that was an extremely reliable, no, predictable way to excite him. Jaskier raised his glass in a little toast and smiled, his eyes sparkling. Geralt took off his trousers, dropped them to the floor, and walked over to him. He took the glass from his hand and drank from the other side, holding his gaze, before putting it aside on the table and kissing him. Jaskier wrapped his arms around his shoulders and pressed up to his chest, slipping deeper into the kiss, and he slid his hands down Jaskier’s back to cup under his bottom. Jaskier hummed contentedly, and his breathing roughened a little when Geralt drew them back up and slid his hands down inside his waistband to squeeze his bare buttocks. 

“Ummm… don’t forget the plan,” Jaskier murmured. “I’m spoiling you.”

“I just  _ enjoy _ feeling your arse.”

“Well, of course you do, it’s a juicy little peach. But come on now, in the bath. That’s right, good boy.” Geralt decided to let the “boy” thing pass without comment this time. The temperature of the water was just right. It smelled like rosemary. He propped his arms on the rim of the tub and closed his eyes, tipping his head back so that Jaskier could wash his hair using the washstand basin and ewer. The thorough scalp massage wasn’t  _ necessary _ but it did feel extremely good.

“I love seeing you  _ luxuriate _ like that,” said Jaskier, gently rinsing his hair. “For so many years, it was so rare to see you even look  _ relaxed,  _ no matter how hard I tried to get you comfortable. And yes, true, part of why you were uncomfortable was because I was trying so hard. Lesson learned. Now, though? I get to see you bask. It’s a gorgeous sight.” He towel-dried his hair and combed it through. 

“I think that’s enough of that,” said Geralt.

“Don’t try to resist the spoiling.”

“Get in here with me.”

“Oh, that’s different.” He whisked out of his pants and climbed in, sitting down at the other end of the tub facing Geralt, sinking into the water with a contented sigh. 

“Not like that, at this end with me.” 

Jaskier twisted round and backed up to him, sitting between his legs and leaning back against his chest. “Ah, like  _ this.” _

“As you well knew,” Geralt said, wrapping his arms around him and hugging him tightly. Jaskier gave a little wriggle of pleasure. “And this part is to spoil you.”

“Mutual spoliation,” said Jaskier. “That works. For a real treat, may I tell you all about the set list I’ve got planned for tomorrow, and the significance of every choice?”

“Go ahead.” He kissed the back of Jaskier’s neck and reached for the wine. He sat contentedly listening to Jaskier talk, volubly as always; the parts he liked were the personal anecdotes in amongst the disquisitions he didn’t fully understand on things like key changes and codas, but more than anything he enjoyed the sound of Jaskier’s voice and the light in his eyes and the way he gestured as he talked about something that interested him. They shared the wine, the cheese and the bread in sips and bites, and when he’d had his fill of those he paid further attention to Jaskier’s neck.

Jaskier closed his eyes and smiled, the corners of his mouth curling sweetly. “That’s nice. Are you planning to give me a few more love-bites?”

“Hmmm…” Jaskier’s skin had a dew of sweat on it, lightly salty, and he pressed his mouth to the soft side of his neck and sucked, kneading with his tongue. Jaskier moaned and he felt it through his throat. He brought his hands to Jaskier’s belly and stroked down and up again, cupping and squeezing his chest, then rubbing his nipples between thumbs and forefingers, while he continued to work over his neck with his mouth. Jaskier responded with hums and sighs and occasional “ooh” and “ah” noises at moments of deep suction or pressure from his teeth. 

“Damn.”

“What?” Jaskier asked, a little breathlessly.

“I meant to stick to the base, but I slipped. This will definitely show.” He pressed an apologetic kiss to the red mark blooming on the side of Jaskier’s neck. 

“Oh nooo,” Jaskier crooned. “Terrible. I’m going to look like a dirty slut. Keep going.”

“Sure?”

“I don’t care, I’ll wear a scarf.”

“It’s summer.”

“Silk scarf.”

“If you don’t care, I don’t care.” The sight of that fresh red bruise was making his lips tingle and his mouth water; he wanted so much to make it worse. Jaskier tipped back his head to offer him his throat, such a sweetly trusting motion, and he licked it before he gently bit, rocking his jaw a little so his lower teeth scraped the tender skin. Jaskier gave a breathless little chuckle.

“The irony that you came to this town to  _ kill _ vampires and here you are nibbling on my neck.”

“I don’t draw blood,” Geralt said, shifting to a new patch of unmarred skin. 

“You have definitely drawn blood out of me. Like literally drawn it out, sucked  _ beads _ of it to the surface, bruised the skin till it broke. It was fucking  _ hot. _ Did you just  _ grunt, _ you animal?”

“Mhm.” He bit down more firmly where Jaskier’s neck met his shoulder, and pinched both his nipples tightly. Jaskier’s back arched and he gasped sharply, almost a squeak.

“Oh fuck, oh yes, oh yes,” he babbled. “Wreck me.” He squirmed as Geralt moved to the other side of his neck, his panting growing rougher and more desperate as he sucked fiercely there. His nipples were swelling and his hips twitching, and he began to masturbate frantically, his pumping arm raising splashes in the water. “Oh,  _ fuck,  _ Geralt!” His other hand lunged up and back and grabbed a handful of Geralt’s hair, twisting sharply, and he hung on tightly as he came, whimpering. As the climax passed he sagged back against Geralt’s body, puffing as if he had run a race, his cheeks scarlet. Geralt didn’t want to stop, but rather than be cruel when Jaskier was so overstimulated, he tried to lick his bruises soothingly.

“Th-that was just  _ obscenely _ good,” Jaskier said weakly, his fingers loosening in the knot of hair. He looked down at his chest and said ruefully, “I did say to wreck me, didn’t I? You did a good job. My poor nipples. Oh… and I can feel your cock poking me in the back, that’s nice.” He twisted around, over onto his knees, and kissed Geralt a little sloppily, reaching between them to rub it briskly. “Come for me, love. Oh, how you’ve earned it. How I  _ love _ you! Oh, and?”

“Uh?” It was hard to think, let alone speak, when Jaskier’s deft hand felt so good. 

“Put your arms up again and just lie back all lazy and luxurious. That’s it, take it like you deserve it. You’re so fucking hot, you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, you’re  _ glorious.” _ His sweet face was bright and joyful, avidly watching Geralt crest and peak, until he was comfortably spent. Jaskier gave him small, soft, sweet little kisses and stroked his hair. “I have defeated the vampire king,” he said. 

“Vampire  _ king?”  _ Geralt repeated. 

“It just makes you sound more impressive. And of course I defeated him, remember? I’m sunshine.”

“Ugh.” Geralt lifted his head and kissed him. “Yes, you are, and I love you.”

“Yay, I feel extremely special.”

“You didn’t tell me you had weird vampire fantasies.”

“I don’t, I was improvising. Actual vampires gross me out. It’s just about... sexy danger.”

“I did make you bleed a little,” Geralt said, touching the crimson blotches dappling Jaskier’s neck. “Should I say I’m sorry, or you’re welcome?”

“Just say it suits me.”

“You look… incredibly unwholesome.”

Jaskier snickered. “I bet I do. Ready for bed? I’m still planning to work you over much more thoroughly. Once you get that second wind.”

“Give me a drink first.” He drained the glass of wine Jaskier gave him. 

“And we should probably actually use, you know, soap.”

“The water’s full of cum.”

“Soap will still work. And you want me to rim you, right?”

“Yes.”

“Want to feel my tongue twirling around your naughty little hole?”

“Don’t be weird.”

“You’re weird.”

“I can’t help being weird, you’re  _ wilfully _ weird.”

“I know, I’m perverse,” Jaskier said, smirking. “But come on, it’s a bit of fun, isn’t it? I’m fun.”

“Best fun I’ve had. So where’s that soap?”

When he lay down on the bed, clean to Jaskier’s exacting standards, he was still making a conscious effort not to drowse off, and expecting it to get worse with the massage. Jaskier’s version of massage had gone from a general, talented-amateur rubbing and stroking to a more precise knowledge of musculature in the time they had been together; just as he’d taken it upon himself to learn more about treating the kinds of injuries Geralt might get, he’d also chosen to use some of their time apart to take a few lessons from a real masseur (with whom he’d also had an affair, because he was Jaskier). That and his extreme familiarity with Geralt’s body in particular meant that he could knead out almost any knot or ache with great precision, or steadily, relentlessly reduce him to a state of relaxation in which he felt as if he could actually melt into a thick warm liquid. If Jaskier was going to liquefy him now, he would be asleep in minutes.

It wasn’t quite that kind of massage, though. Jaskier had clearly planned it out to balance relaxation with stimulation, bringing blood flow to sensitive areas and making them gently burn. The effect on his thighs was particularly intense. He wasn’t sure what exactly was in the massage oil but certainly not the usual soothing chamomile.

“Why aren’t you touching my cock?” It had been fully hard for several minutes, and he was on his back so that was fully visible, but each time he tried to touch himself Jaskier pushed his hands away and tutted at him. 

“Because it’s fun making you wait,” Jaskier said, working the muscles of his flanks, which always made him arch and squirm. He wasn’t quite ticklish there but it was close.

“You can’t stop me if I do. I’m stronger than you.”

“No, but you’re not doing it, are you? Because you actually want to be a good boy who waits for his reward.”

“I’m humouring you.”

“Hmmm… no. I think you really want to be good and be told how good you are.” He bent and kissed Geralt’s lips. “You can like that, it’s okay.”

“So do you want me to be a… a sexy danger vampire thing or a  _ good boy?”  _ he asked incredulously. He hadn’t volunteered for the vampire idea in the first place but he could see how he’d suggested it; now Jaskier was bouncing off in a new direction and he was getting lost.

“Keep up, Geralt, I defeated the vampire king. Took his fangs as a souvenir. Might give them to Yen as earrings.”

“I’m not a —“

Jaskier cut him off with a kiss and said, “You are, though. Look how good you’re being. I define a good boy by his behaviour. A good boy relaxes and gets his hips and thighs rubbed and doesn’t complain even though his cock is bobbing around begging for attention. A good boy trusts me to take care of him. Oh, a good boy bites his lip exactly like that.”

“You’re just going to say a good boy does whatever I do,” Geralt said with an effort. 

“A good boy doesn’t argue like that. He just enjoys the attention.”

“Does a good boy tell you to fuck right off?”

“Oh no, he’d never say that. You’re not saying that, are you?”

He thought about it. “No.”

“See? Good.” He dragged clawed fingertips down Geralt’s sides and over his thighs, and as he tensed under him, Jaskier moved down the bed to set his tongue at the base of Geralt’s cock and drag it slowly up to the tip, pressing it down onto Geralt’s belly and lingering there, softly fluttering his tongue and breathing heavily against the slick glans. Geralt grunted and sighed, his breath hissing out between his teeth. It was such a pleasure but still so teasing. Jaskier was looking up at him, bright-eyed and mischievous, his tongue glistening soft pink. He rubbed the underside of the shaft with oiled fingers and kissed the tip wetly, taking a little more into his mouth with each breath, his lips soft and lush and slippery. 

“Suck it,” Geralt breathed. 

“Hmm? Mm-mm.” He shook his head a little and swirled his tongue. 

“Ffff…” He didn’t know what to do with his hands, other than hold Jaskier’s head down the way Yennefer would do to him, and he wasn’t sure he’d enjoy that the way he did. He settled for gripping handfuls of the pillow under his head. Jaskier pulled his cock a little deeper and began to suck properly at last, with soft, wet smacking sounds. “Yes… oh, yes…” He could feel Jaskier’s hand under his balls, his fingers rubbing and tickling behind. It went on, and on, getting sweeter and deeper, and he dug his heels in and rocked his hips, panting in delight, then moaning in disappointment as Jaskier’s mouth slid off the head and down the shaft. 

“I only have one mouth,” Jaskier pointed out, shifting his attention to his balls. That was a different kind of pleasure, more precarious, making him quiver on edge for as long as it lasted.

“Roll over,” Jaskier breathed. When he was on his belly Jaskier pressed his buttocks apart with his thumbs and slid his tongue up and down between them. There was a hot, flickering sensation gliding over and around his anus, the velvety texture of Jaskier’s tongue making the delicate skin tickle and burn. Geralt groaned, his sweating face pressed into the pillow. Jaskier didn’t often do this to him, and he’d said it was so he didn’t get a chance to get used to it. He wanted him always to be at least a little overwhelmed by it. He pointed the tip and wiggled it in, with Geralt huffing and gasping. 

“Jaskier…”

“Hmm?”

“I need you to fuck me.  _ Please _ fuck me.”

“Don’t want a little more tongue?”

“I need dick.”

“You say such sweet things. Here we go.  _ Oh, _ you’re hot. I might melt in here.”

“No, you — my back — kissing…”

“Of course! I’m so sorry, my love, I promised, didn’t I?” He pulled out and Geralt rolled over, spreading his legs in the way that was now second nature, and welcomed him back in with a deep grunt of satisfaction. Jaskier pressed down on him and kissed him and he felt perfectly and completely full. 

“Let’s see if you’re right about me not lasting long,” Jaskier panted. “On the one hand, I’m so excited, I’m so hard, you’re so lovely — on the other I really want to prove you wrong.”

“That’s fine.” He was still just revelling in that first deep rush of penetration, all those inner muscles twitching, and the emotional rush of having this in the most satisfying way for the first time in so long. His head snapped back and he groaned at a spike of hot dark pleasure that rushed up his spine. Jaskier was moving inside him, long deep strokes in and out to make him feel the full length of his cock and the rim of his anus throbbing. The warming effect of the oil was getting him there too and it was tingling urgently. 

“Good boy. Handsome boy.” A deep wet kiss and a shift in angle that reduced the intensity a little, Jaskier lifting himself up on his arms. “Oh,  _ strong _ boy, feel him grip me. He’s been so patient.”

“Who’re you talking to?”

“My imaginary audience,” Jaskier smiled, before the smile melted and his mouth dropped open a little, his eyes fluttering closed. “Oh…  _ oh, _ they’re getting a show.” He rocked his hips steadily against Geralt’s, pushing little puffs and sighs out of him. “Let’s hear… some more sounds from you… my instrument… what music can I make as I fiddle my beau?” He came very close to losing his rhythm as he struggled not to laugh at his own joke — he must just have thought of it and surprised himself. Geralt had to bite his lip again to keep from encouraging him with a response.  _ Idiot. My idiot. Keeping him. _ A deeper stroke made him moan and Jaskier’s face lit up. “That’s it!” He rode on, drawing out gasps and grunts, building up to breathless cries as the deep, sweet heat Geralt felt low in his belly and at the root of his cock grew. He reached up and grabbed Jaskier’s arms and pulled him down to kiss him frantically, bucking up against him. Jaskier thrust his tongue into his mouth and rutted into him, making sounds in his throat in between whimpers and growls of pleasure and feverish giggles of delight. Geralt gripped him tight and shuddered, every muscle tense as lightning seemed to crackle through him. 

“Mmm! Ooh,  _ fuck! _ Geralt, I… oh… oh love…” Jaskier sagged down on him, panting roughly. “Oh… I… mmm…” He kissed Geralt’s cheek clumsily, his lips soft and heavy. “Ohh… I’m done… are you?”

“Mmm.”

“Did a good boy just come all over himself?”

“Don’t ruin it.”

“Yeah, that sounded a bit off. My brain is like… like warm applesauce. Forgive me?”

“Hrrmmm.”

“You want me to stay here?”

“Mmmm.”

“I don’t know if you’re… agreeing or very gently snoring,” Jaskier sighed. “‘m going to fa’sleep right here.” He was warm and sleek with sweat and not quite heavy, but a very satisfying pressure both outside and in. All the tension and arousal were gone and left nothing behind but calm. Geralt felt Jaskier slip down a little, nestling against his body and between his splayed thighs, and himself slipped down into soft darkness. 

Some time later, Jaskier woke needing to pee; he had altogether slipped out of Geralt once he was soft, so it wasn’t as if he would be taking something away from him. He felt very deeply pleased with everything that was happening, even the soreness of his neck. It had possibly been a bit silly to fall asleep with the candles burning, but the room wasn’t on fire so he wasn’t about to waste time feeling bad about that, and it meant he had a little light to clean up by, so it was overall convenient. He blew them out afterwards except for one on the table by the bed, and stood looking at Geralt, asleep on his back and more beautiful dishevelled than most men managed to look dressed in their best on their wedding days.  _ That’s my man, my mansion, I was so right to choose him.  _

Geralt stirred as Jaskier clambered back into bed beside him and kissed his cheek. He wrapped one arm around him and pulled him in against the side of his body with a contented grumble. 

“Good nap?” Jaskier asked. 

“Mmm… peaceful.”

“Sorry I couldn’t stay put longer, but after a while I had to pee. Still, I fucked you calm, in Yen’s lovely phrase, and put you to sleep. I’ve missed doing that.”

“I miss you doing it.” He paused. “But I do kind of  _ like _ getting fucked on all fours in the woods.”

Jaskier laughed drowsily. “What else do I expect from a wolf?”

“I know you don’t really like it, though.”

“It’s not quite that. I like it, it feels good, it’s always good to feel close to you. I just can’t relax completely. It’s not comfortable.”

“I think I like the discomfort.”

“Yeah? Like you enjoy having your hair pulled?” Jaskier asked with a little smile. 

“Who says I like having my hair pulled?”

“Who pulls your hair?”

Geralt looked a little embarrassed. “Are you two going to talk about things like that a lot?”

“Woe is you, we talk about what you like in bed and how to make you feel good. That’s just awful.”

“I don’t want the same stuff from her and from you. I’d never bite her like this,” he said, lightly touching Jaskier’s neck. 

“You want to treat her like a queen, don’t you? I think that’s really sweet. You’re adorable when you’re submissive.”

“Don’t call me  _ adorable.” _

“I adore you, though. I’m able to. Therefore…”

“That’s your ability, not mine.”

“You object to being called adorable, but not submissive?”

Geralt frowned a little. “Well, when we were first together it would certainly have pissed me off. But you said _when_ you’re submissive. As if it’s a mood I get into, not what I am by nature. I don’t mind that.”

“Well, I’m glad you get that at last. After I’ve gone on and on all this time about how much I enjoy my own versatility.”

“Well, that’s you. You enjoy a lot of things I don’t.”

“But you enjoy that about me too. It’s one reason why we’re great together. Imagine if I only liked you one way, or vice versa. You’d be all ‘fuck me’ and I’d be all ‘no, you fuck me’ and nobody would be getting fucked and it’d be a tragedy.”

“I’m  _ saying,” _ Geralt said with pointed patience, “you’ve always enjoyed that about yourself. I didn’t at first, it made me uncomfortable, felt like I didn’t know myself or I’d been deceiving people without meaning to. Now I’m comfortable with the idea that I’m not just one thing all the time. I might get mixed up between states or moods at times, but that doesn’t feel as if there’s something  _ wrong _ any more.”

“I am so proud of you, I truly am. You seriously used to be the most uptight, locked-down man I knew. I always loved you, obviously, but I can love who you are now even more.”

“You’re proud of me for strange reasons.”

“I’m proud of you for dozens of reasons. You’d better watch out or I’ll start listing them.”

“I sometimes wonder if what you  _ want _ is for me to get a hugely swollen head and become an arrogant, boastful prick.”

“There is a happy medium between arrogance and self-loathing, you know. It’s where you just feel that you’re quite a nice person and it makes sense that people are fond of you. Like me.”

“You don’t just think you’re quite a nice person,” Geralt said with a half-smile. 

“No, I think I’m a delight, but you’ve got to start somewhere. What does that look mean?”

“Only that I never thought I’d one day want to talk to someone as  _ much _ as I talk to you.”

“Oh, if you’d consulted a soothsayer ten years ago who said ‘You’re going to have long talks about your  _ feelings  _ with  _ Jaskier,’  _ you’d have thought he was off his head.”

“I’d have looked around for where you were hiding, having paid him to tell me bullshit.”

“Are you proud of me?” Jaskier asked. It was a bit of a sudden lurch into earnestness, but he needed to know and Geralt would surely only tell him if he asked. 

“Of course I am,” Geralt said. 

“Tell me why.”

“You’re going to take this the wrong way.”

“What’s the right way?”

“The way where I only mean it as a good thing.”

“Hmm, we’ll see.”

“You’ve become someone I can depend on. More than I ever thought you could, even when I asked you to help me with Ciri. I thought you would  _ want _ to help, you would try, but you wouldn’t be that much practical use. I wanted you there more than anything because I love you and you… you comfort me. I thought you would be there for my benefit more than hers. Then you turned out to be good at taking care of her and of me too. Whatever you didn’t know how to do, you rolled your sleeves up and you learned it. You didn’t whine when things were difficult — much — and you put up with living in a place you’d never have gone of your own accord, and you backed me when I had to make decisions for all of us. When we were getting ready to leave Kaer Morhen in spring I got pulled aside for seven separate little fraternal ‘do not fuck this up, you won’t do any better’ talks.”

“Your brothers are so mean!” Jaskier couldn’t help laughing. 

“They were saying they love you and they want us to stay together. You have to translate.”

“They love me!” He’d known they liked him, he’d made considerable efforts to make them like him, but that was a step up.

“Of course they do. You make me happy.”

“There aren’t seven of them, unless there are some sneaky twins or triplets.”

“There was some repetition to make sure I got the point. Anyway, I’m proud of you because I took you home and everyone thought you were great and I was lucky.” He gave a half-shrug. 

“Even though you were expecting me to be a bit useless, eh?”

“Not useless. I just didn’t realise how well you’d rise to the occasion.”

“I’m really pretty tickled to think they all loved me. Even scary old Vesemir?”

“He… thinks well of you.”

“I’ll take it.” He kissed Geralt to celebrate, in a small way. “I wonder what they’ll think of Yen next winter.”

“You’ll have to go in first and explain she’s there with your blessing or they’ll all kick the shit out of me, out of loyalty to you.”

“You don’t think they’d be happier to see you with a woman?”

“They surprised me with how happy they were about you. I went up there all set to defend you and tell them if they couldn’t accept me like this and treat you with some respect they could go and fuck themselves, and I didn’t have to. Felt a bit stupid, really. Relieved but stupid. Made me wonder if I’d always just been imagining how much they’d disapprove of that part of me.”

“But we went up there to have a safe haven for Ciri. You were going to tell them to fuck themselves if they weren’t accepting?”

“Yes. A safe haven is one thing. It’s not worth someone I love being treated like dirt.”

“Love, I could absolutely have put up with some dirt if it kept Ciri safe.”

“Another reason why I’m proud of you, also why you shouldn’t have to.”

“But if we got kicked out —”

“No, I would kick  _ them _ out of Kaer Morhen.”

“All of them.”

“Yes.”

“At once, or in succession?”

“In succession. Be realistic, Jaskier.”

“Right, yeah, of course. What if they tried to sneak back in?”

“Boiling oil through the murder hole.”

“I don’t know how I feel about the fact you grew up in a home with a dedicated murder hole.”

“Any half-decent keep has a murder hole.”

“We had an oubliette, but no one can remember where it is.”

Geralt actually chuckled at that, which was the kind of warm deep sound that Jaskier didn’t just hear but felt in his chest. “Still, I’m glad I didn’t have to. It would have been tiring.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“I expect you will.”

“You like getting fucked on all fours in the woods, you say?”

“Yes. It feels… hasty and exciting. And although I’m pretty sure I used to think it was the only way men fucked, until recently you and I hardly ever did it that way, so it’s different.”

“There you’re up against my enthusiasm for cuddling. All my favourite positions maximise cuddliness. Face to face, spooning, sitting in your lap… actually, we probably should vary it more, it just feels so  _ good  _ to be that close to you, skin to skin.” It felt good to be close to him now. His mood was shifting from placidly affectionate to more amorous. He was pretty sure the thought of Geralt fighting for his honour had something to do with it; it wasn’t that he  _ wanted _ to be the cause of a family brawl, it was just that Geralt being protective and fierce and ruthless was really really hot, at least as an abstract idea with no actual bloodshed or oil burns. 

“They’re my favourites too. Don’t misunderstand, given the choice between all fours and being able to put my arms around you, that’s an easy choice.”

“I’m so glad you turned out to be cuddly.”

“I’m being that right now.”

“Tell me more about the hasty and exciting, though.”

Geralt frowned as if thinking. “Well… the feeling that we both need it so much that we’ll couple like animals in heat.”

“Animals don’t put down a blanket or oil up their cocks first, but I think I get it.”

“I’d like to hoist you up against a wall or a tree more. That’s hasty and exciting.”

“Hell, yes. Anything that makes me feel how big and strong you are. I love how you can just lift me and move me around like it’s not even an effort.”

“Want to do that next?” Geralt asked with a spark in his eyes. 

“Yes please.” He rolled and clambered astride Geralt to kiss him. Geralt rumbled happily and grabbed his bottom with both hands. “You’re just going to ruin me at both ends,” Jaskier said gleefully. He threw himself into wet kisses and into the deep enjoyment of large, strong hands kneading his buttocks until they were hot and tingling, then fingers sliding between them to rub. Geralt grabbed for the bottle of oil on the bedside table without looking and knocked it over but caught it before it could fall. He slicked his fingers and pushed them up into the cleft again, stroking up and down, and Jaskier moaned, pushing back on his hand. 

“Have to get up,” Geralt mumbled. 

“Not yet, finger me first.”

“Up.” Geralt sat up and pushed Jaskier with him, not difficult with his hand where it was, shifting them to the side of the bed with Jaskier shuffling on his knees and holding his shoulders for balance. 

“Don’t push me off,” he said breathlessly, then gasped as Geralt slid his finger inside him, stroking firmly in and out.  _ “Fuck _ yes…” Geralt was looking up at him, his eyes fierce and bright in the dim candlelight, his lips just parted as he avidly watched his face. 

“How’s that?” Geralt asked. 

“Oh, I can’t wait.” He bit his lip and shut his eyes, bearing down on Geralt’s pumping fingers. “How rough are you going to be?”

“No rougher than you can stand. Stand.” He got up, pushing Jaskier again, and kissed him deeply as he kept his fingers moving. Jaskier stood a little awkwardly with his feet apart and his bottom sticking out, his arms around Geralt’s neck, panting and sucking at his tongue. Then abruptly the fingers were out and he was being shoved, Geralt’s hands gripping his upper arms, stumbling backward till his back hit the wall with a bump, with the full length and heat of Geralt’s body pressing up to him. Geralt reached for his legs and he obediently hopped up and was hoisted, pinned flat against the wall, being kissed till his lips felt bruised. “Hold on tight to me,” Geralt breathed against his lips, freeing one of his hands to guide his cock in. Jaskier gasped at the stretch and the push up into his core, and Geralt grabbed his thighs again with both hands, thrusting into him with a fierce grunt. 

“Ah!” His head rocked back and bumped the wall, which he hardly felt, compared with the heat of Geralt’s mouth against his throat, licking roughly, hurting the fresh bruises. “Fucking animal,” he moaned. 

“Too much?”

“Don’t stop!” This was the roughest he’d ever felt Geralt be and it was completely thrilling, free for now of any consideration like how sore he’d be in the morning. “Fuck me harder!” Geralt growled and rutted into him, lifting him with the force of his thrusts.  _ Oh fuck so big how fucking strong is he the fucking thighs alone! _ The pounding continued tirelessly, Geralt was gripping his arse so tightly he could feel it bruise, and Jaskier yelped as his mouth closed right on the trapezius muscle and sucked and  _ bit.  _ It was  _ scary _ and at the same time felt perfectly safe  _ because _ Geralt was holding him. He moaned aloud and clung to him, quivering with shocks of sharp pleasure and a dull burn of pain where Geralt’s teeth gripped him. Grunting, moaning, skin slapping against skin and his back and his head bumping the wall, and all too soon Geralt was grinding deep into him and his hips were twitching with a climax. 

Geralt leaned heavily on him, huffing against his aching shoulder, letting Jaskier’s legs slide down until his feet touched the floor. He breathed in deeply and kissed Jaskier, who tasted blood and felt a little shocked. “That was too fast, wasn’t it?” Geralt murmured. 

“For me, yes, but I loved feeling what it did to you.” Another deep kiss, and he felt Geralt’s hand on his cock, rubbing with a gentle twist at the end of each stroke that made his legs shake and his hips jerk. “Oh… oh, my lovely, that’s just what I need. Have you been holding all that in?”

“Not exactly. Hard to explain.” More kisses, and that firm, assured stroking, bringing him off sweetly with a final gasp. “Are you all right?” He drew back and looked at Jaskier properly, and he looked worried. “I bit you too hard. You’re really bleeding.”

“I’m too giddy to care.”

“Don’t be stupid. Come back to bed and I’ll take care of it.” 

“Don’t fuss,” said Jaskier, promptly falling to one knee as soon as Geralt was no longer holding him up. Geralt caught him and hauled him up sternly and carried him to bed. “I’m perfectly all right.”

“Human bite wounds are filthy and you don’t have my resistance to infection,” said Geralt, blotting his shoulder with an unused towel. 

“You’re the one who claims not to be really human,” Jaskier pointed out. “Pshaw, that’s hardly any blood at all. You made it sound like a river of gore.”

“This is the problem with fucking you silly,” Geralt muttered, wiping, “it makes you fucking silly.”

“I can’t see it, what are we actually talking about here? You didn’t bite off a  _ flap.” _

“Two shallow punctures from my top canines and a small semicircular cut from my lower incisors. Deep bruising from all the other teeth. The semicircle is bleeding most. If you weren’t all doped with afterglow you’d be whining about it to no end.”

“No, I’m big and brave,” Jaskier retorted with dignity. “Stop fussing. Look, am I in any danger of bleeding to the point of being unwell?”

“No,” Geralt admitted. “It’s slowing down.”

“Then we can deal with it in the morning. I don’t want first aid, I want a cuddle. I want to feel firmly and securely held, all right?”

“All right,” said Geralt, very doubtfully. “I can hold the towel on it. If it goes septic —“

“I’ll acknowledge you were right,” Jaskier said, snuggling into the circle of his arms. “Good night, my love.”

“Good night,” Geralt mumbled, kissing the top of his head. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the second Witcher fic I have written with an oubliette pun in it and hopefully I will stop now


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parts of this chapter seem, like... unusually dirty even considering the rest of this story. But it is fun to mess with Geralt.  
> Also you'll detect that I really don't know how Yennefer's style of chaos magic works and made something up loosely based on what little I can remember from the show, that business with the daisies and the rocks. The important thing is, Jaskier has a bad time.

He was so sore when he woke up he thought he must have forgotten something, like at some point being violently attacked. He lay hugging Geralt’s back and inwardly debating whether he wanted to try sniffling and angling to be cosseted and comforted, or whether a sense of pride and dignity (and the likelihood Geralt would tell him to belt up and not be a baby) should prohibit it. He felt and heard Geralt wake up with a deep but calm breath inward, followed by a contented sigh. 

“I’m glad  _ you’re  _ happy,” he said morosely. “I’m maimed.”

“What hurts most?” Geralt asked drowsily. 

“The neck. The bumcheeks are a close second.  _ Inside  _ the bum is comparatively comfortable, but it is sore from the rough fucking. And my thighs, I don’t know why they’re sore, you didn’t do anything to them. Maybe I was squeezing you too hard, strained something.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not actually blaming you, at least, I think we’re equally to blame, you for savaging me and me for urging you on.”

“I was trying to do what you wanted… or I was excited by you wanting it… I don’t know why I got like that.”

“So that wasn’t a sudden outbreak of what you’ve wanted to do to me all along?”

“No. I gave myself a shock, but you were acting like it was wonderful, and I just… went.”

“I gave myself a bit of a shock too. I think we were sort of feeding on each other. Not in a vampirey way, just that you egged me on and I egged you on and we both got… much more eggy than normal.”

“If we’re going to do that again I think we have to plan it, not just get carried away. Have things ready to clean you up afterwards. Ointment or something.”

“I don’t think I want to do it again. Up against the wall is great but not biting at the same time. Biting got out of hand.” He gave a rueful little snort. “I don’t envy whoever’s on the other side of that wall.”

“No one. It’s the exterior wall.”

“What superb presence of mind, you clever man.”

“I didn’t want anyone to think I was killing you.”

“I did really  _ really _ enjoy it. Even if I think it was a mistake  _ now,  _ it was so fucking hot. You getting that aggressive and forceful and pinning me to the wall and sinking your teeth in. Bet Yen would’ve enjoyed seeing that.”

“I don’t think I want to show her that.”

_ “Too _ dominant this time?”

“Too violent. Let’s see the damage,” Geralt said, rolling over to face Jaskier. His brows knit together in consternation. 

“What? Has my hair turned white and my eyes turned yellow? Like werewolf rules?”

“No, you just look like hell. You don’t have a scarf that’ll cover this.” He touched the skin beside the bite very lightly. “It feels warm, but not hot like it would if it were infected. It still needs some ointment.”

“Good. Does it look really gross?”

“It looks like someone chewed on your neck. It’s crimson and purple and blue. I don’t know what to do about it. I’ve never messed you up so much before. I feel ashamed of it.” He was still tracing around the bite mark with his fingertips, frowning. 

“Geralt? Love? That hurts a bit.”

“Sorry.”

“Oh! You know what we should do? Ask Yen. She’s all tricky and always looks perfect. I bet she’s mutilated  _ lots _ of people and covered it up.”

“That’s rude,” said Geralt.

“It’s morning, isn’t it? I’m sure I heard a cockerel a minute ago. Get your clothes on and go and bother her. No, have a quick wash first, you reek of sweat and spunk.”

Yennefer arrived with Geralt a few minutes later, looking as if her hair and nightgown had never been slept in. When she entered she blinked and coughed slightly. “Smells like  _ boys _ in here,” she said. 

“Yes, we’re very aromatic, thanks,” said Jaskier. He was sitting up in bed, having opened the shutters for a bit of light, inspecting the ruinous state of his neck in his shaving mirror. “Dear, wise Yen, can you do anything about this?”

She turned to Geralt, who looked sheepish. “What did you  _ do _ to him?”

“Showed me a good time,” said Jaskier.

“Yes, but look at this,” she said, striding over and pushing his head to one side to display the injuries. “It’s fine if you want to rough him up a little, but you clearly didn’t know what you were doing. I suppose Geralt may not,” she said, turning to Jaskier, “but  _ you’re  _ surely unsavoury enough to have some experience of these things.”

“Yes and no. Just fun with blindfolds and stuff. Slap and tickle. Ow, don’t stretch it.” 

“Then you at least know you should have some sort of plan so you don’t go further than you mean.”

“I know it  _ intellectually, _ but I’m a tremendously dynamic and spontaneous person.”

“It’s my fault,” said Geralt, “I did the damage. Can you help him? Heal it up?”

“If I just heal it up he won’t learn anything. I can conceal it. It will look normal but it’ll still be there, and it has to heal on its own. Will that do?”

“No, please, can’t you really heal it? I don’t care about the bruises on my bum, but this whole area, this is going to be a problem tonight. I’m going to perform and the strap of my lute is going to be right on the sorest part.” Jaskier gazed at her beseechingly, hoping a beseeching gaze still worked when he looked this disreputable.

“He did this to your bum too? Show me.”

“That was only my hands,” Geralt said quickly. “I squeezed him too tight. There was no biting.”

“Pity,” she said.

“Pity, mercy, compassion, all things you could show by very kindly fixing up this mess,” Jaskier said hopefully. 

“Please,” said Geralt. “I don’t want to ruin tonight for him. He’s been looking forward to it. And he’s going to be looking after Ciri today while we’re out on the hunt.”

“And it’s going to be awkward if she hugs me or something and I flinch,” Jaskier pointed out.

“Oh, fine,” she said. “Although I would much prefer to teach you a lesson, I’ll be nice this once. Hmm.” She inspected the bruises on the other side of Jaskier’s neck. “You can’t make something from nothing, even an illusion. There’s always an exchange. I need something that will be consumed by the exchange. Something alive. Plants are good enough for small things like this; Geralt, could you step downstairs and find some flowers outside?”

“Any particular type of flower?”

“Chamomile,” said Jaskier. Geralt gave him a Look.

“Anything,” said Yennefer, “as long as it’s fresh. Weeds are fine.”

“Weeds!” exclaimed Jaskier.

“You’re named after a weed.”

“It’s a wildflower, thank you.”

“Would it actually help if they were buttercups?” Geralt asked. “I don’t know. This isn’t my type of magic; that’s more alchemical and elemental.”

“It makes no difference at all,” said Yennefer.

“It would charm and flatter me,” said Jaskier.

“Right, you’re getting the first growing green thing I see,” said Geralt. “Thank you, Yen. I will really try not to make a habit of asking you to fix things I’ve done to Jaskier.”

“It’s been my neck both times!” Jaskier exclaimed. “Inside and outside. Do these things go in threes?”

“Next time he might break it, and I definitely can’t fix that,” said Yennefer.

“I’m not going to break his neck,” said Geralt, beginning to sound annoyed.

“I don’t know, clearly you don’t know your own strength in the throes of passion,” said Jaskier. 

_ “Throes,” _ Geralt muttered irritably, heading out the door and slamming it behind him. 

“Or threes!” Jaskier called after him.

“But seriously, what did he do to you?” Yennefer asked, sitting down on the bed. “He wouldn’t explain, just looked embarrassed and grumbled.”

“Oh, fucked me up against the wall and bit my neck like an animal. It was fantastic. And quite funny given that I’d envisioned a relaxing, romantic sort of night, all slow and deep and gentle, wine and candlelight, giving him a bath and a massage… although he was already getting a bit rough and frisky in the bath. There was pinching.”

“Oh, is that what happened to your chest?” She poked one bruised nipple and he winced. 

“And the early stages of neck-biting. Mostly long sucking kisses. We  _ did _ have slow, deep, gentle sex too. The rough stuff started when we woke up after our first sleep. Sorry to brag about all this when you had such a chaste night yourself. That’s a pretty nightie, though.”

“You’re not sorry,” she said, though he thought her eyes were smiling. 

“I’m not very, no. Was it okay, though? Good talk with Ciri?”

“Oh, yes. I think I understand better what she needs. I did experience something similar when I was young, using magic almost involuntarily out of panic. It took me a long time to be able to do it intentionally, though. I was frustrated because the magic wouldn’t come. She’s afraid she can’t contain it. She needs to know it and understand it as her own. We’ll work on that.”

“Thank you. I’m fairly sure people aren’t  _ supposed  _ to have sensible conversations about their shared child’s emotional and magical needs while waiting for a third person to get back with a fistful of dandelions or something for the purpose of healing up an unwise sex injury, and yet, here we are.”

“I do enjoy how you say ridiculous things so glibly and plausibly.”

“Another element of my charm.”

“You look  _ really _ trashy, though.”

“Oh, I know. Louche and debauched. Is it doing anything for you?”

“Making me laugh?” she suggested.

“Good. I think you and I are going to enjoy each other, I really do.”

“Certainly, if you can see past the vagina dentata.”

“Ha ha.”

“No, really. We all have them, didn’t you know?”

“I slightly doubt that, given Geralt’s continued possession of a dick.”

“Well, of course the teeth are retractable. Like a cat’s claws. They don’t pop out unless I  _ want _ to hurt someone. But it does tend to make men nervous knowing they’re there, so I usually don’t say anything unless I think they can handle it. Can you?” she asked him earnestly.

“Er — ah — oh, _ fuck _ you, you’re fucking with me.”

She gave a delighted crow of laughter. “You almost believed me!”

“Because you having fangs in your fanny is all too plausible!”

“Don’t call it a  _ fanny, _ there is no less sexy word for it than fanny.”

“Yes there is, flange. Or axe wound. Anyway, I’m a wordsmith, I didn’t say ‘fanny’ thinking it sounded sexy, I was going for comic effect.”

“What  _ would _ you call it to sound sexy?” she asked, leaning back on her arms. 

“Depends entirely on the lady in question. What makes her  _ feel _ sexy, and beautiful, and desired? Once I work out her preference I’m golden.”

“Cunt,” said Yennefer.

“Harsh.”

“No, I prefer the word cunt. It’s strong and direct and a little dirty.”

“I see why it suits you, then,” he said gallantly. “Ooh! I forgot to tell you, I  _ did _ pull his hair.”

The door opened abruptly and Geralt walked in with a cabbage. “There,” he said, dropping it in Jaskier’s sheet-covered lap. 

“Seriously?”

“It’s green. It was growing out the back. I’ll pay for it if anyone complains.”

“You’re a cabbage thief.”

“I thought it was a good idea to get something substantial, rather than bring a little bit and have to go back if it wasn’t enough.”

“It’s excellent,” said Yennefer. “Well done.” Geralt looked very pleased. “Close your eyes,” she told Jaskier. 

“Why, are you going to do something secret and witchy?”

“No, I just think having you stare at me while I work would be off-putting.”

“You tell me if she does anything really weird to me,” Jaskier said to Geralt. 

“I might,” said Geralt unhelpfully. 

He closed his eyes and felt a touch on his neck and a slight pressure downward on the cabbage — really, a cabbage, Geralt couldn’t have found something a little less utterly prosaic? — which suggested Yennefer had her hand on it. He could just hear her whispering words he didn’t know, and after a moment the most peculiar sensation in his bruised skin where she touched him, hot and extremely itchy. It made him squirm. 

“Hold still,” said Yennefer, moving her hand to the other side of his neck. That was the bitten side, and here the itching became furious, almost unbearable. 

“His face is turning red,” Geralt said. “Is he all right?”

“He’s fine, don’t interrupt.”

Rather than smack her hand away as he very much wanted to do, Jaskier grabbed a double handful of the sheet under him and bit his lip. 

“Don’t do that,” Geralt said, placing his hand on Jaskier’s chest. “Breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth. That’s it. See, you’re fine.”

“It’s burning!” Jaskier blurted out. “I’m sure it’s burning me! Stop!”

“It’s not burning. Sometimes healing hurts.”

“Ow ow ow!”

“Stop whining or I’ll give you something to whine about,” said Yennefer calmly. A moment later she said “There,” and took her hands away. It was the skin equivalent of a terribly loud noise suddenly stopping and leaving one’s ears ringing. Jaskier gasped and blinked away tears and felt very sorry for himself. He also discovered that instead of a lapful of cabbage he now had a lapful of ashes.  _ Something  _ had certainly burned. 

“You could have warned me it was going to hurt,” he said bitterly to Yennefer, rubbing the newly smooth skin where the bite had been. 

“I’m sorry, I thought you were a grown-up. I made your skin and some of the underlying tissues do in about a minute what they would normally have done over several days. Of course it prickled a bit. You’re welcome.”

“Can I get a little bit of comfort, please?” he asked, appealing to Geralt. 

“Once you’ve thanked Yen,” Geralt said, crossing his arms. 

“It’s not fair. You’re on her side.”

“I’m on the side of you not being a whiny little brat to someone who helped you in exactly the way you asked her to do,” Geralt said calmly. 

“Ugh. All right. Thank you for mending my neck, Yen,” he said sullenly. “Next time I’ll be prepared for it to feel like being branded.”

“Just don’t have a next time,” she said. “Use your brain and don’t let Geralt bite you where it shows — I don’t care how good it feels at the time.”

“That was my fault,” said Geralt. 

“Yes, it was. You’re a pair of idiots who couldn’t resist having silly, bitey, rough sex and frankly you deserve each other. Is that what you want to hear? Or are you hoping for some kind of punishment?” She was looking up at Geralt very steadily, her head a little forward so her gaze came up from under her lashes, just the slightest hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth, and he turned red and cleared his throat. 

“No, we’re not having any of that today,” said Jaskier quickly. “I have a dead cabbage on my lap, I can’t deal with other people’s kinks this morning.”

“But maybe you could help,” she said. 

“I’ll stick with no, on the grounds that we all already have plans for the day, and I have to try to figure out what to do with, I repeat, a dead cabbage.”

“The cabbage actually worked rather well,” said Yennefer. “I haven’t tried working with one of those before. Did you just choose it because Jaskier was getting on your nerves teasing you and you knew it’d offend his sensibilities?”

He shrugged in a vaguely affirmative way. 

“You don’t always have to use something  _ up _ , though, do you?” Jaskier asked. 

“No, I can defer the exchange or direct it in another way, but it’s a bit like going into debt, or putting off one creditor to pay another. If you can easily pay cash you do, and then you don’t have to remember who you owe — because this sort of debt is always settled one way or another.”

“Well,” said Jaskier, “today the cabbage has paid for me, I suppose.” He gathered the sheet together in a sort of bundle and got out of bed, pulling it with him. “Whoever cleans out this room is going to wonder how on earth we got blood  _ and _ ashes in the bed.”

“Or they’ll assume that as I’m a witcher I do weird and disgusting things and that accounts for it,” said Geralt. “Your arse has  _ stripes.” _

“I accept no share of blame for that at all,” Jaskier said over his shoulder. “You’re the one who couldn’t just squeeze it a normal amount.” He opened the window and shook the ashes out over the roof of the stable next door.

“That really is disgraceful,” said Yennefer, getting up. “With that, I’m going to get ready for the day. See you at breakfast.” She kissed Geralt goodbye and slipped out. 

Jaskier went back to the bed and dumped the crumpled sheet on it, then felt Geralt’s arms wrap around him from behind. 

“Did you still want a little comfort?” Geralt asked. 

“Better late than never.” He twisted round and put his head on Geralt’s shoulder, and felt him stroke his bare back, one big, warm, slightly rough hand moving up and down. “That’s nice.” 

“I am sorry about your neck. And your arse. I’ll rub arnica on it if you like.”

“That would be excellent, it really would.”

The day passed quietly with Geralt and Yennefer gone. They had set off riding double on Roach early after breakfast, to make the most of daylight, Yennefer looking rather dashing in the lavender suit — which was no longer lavender, since she had somehow without benefit of Geralt’s secret dye made it black. The black had a very faint lavender iridescent sheen to it, like a muted version of a starling’s wing. It was quite glamorous and Jaskier was considering stealing it back from her. 

Geralt had been in a odd mood, serious and intent as he always was when setting out on a hunt, but with a suggestion of a certain bright-eyed nervous energy focused on Yennefer. He was always looking at her and trying unobtrusively to touch her and it was amusing to see him so lovestruck. And a little bit sad, since Jaskier didn’t think he’d ever been quite like that with him, but then Yennefer was different from him in most ways, so it made sense that she would elicit a different reaction from Geralt. He would remind himself of that when he felt disregarded. Not to mention he had the aches in his thighs and backside to remind him how voraciously he was loved and wanted. 

“I’m sorry I was so grumpy about my neck. You really did a good job, it feels perfectly normal now,” he told her, feeling virtuous and generous, as she was tying back her hair as a last preparation.

“Good,” she said, looking amused, “I didn’t want to write you off as an ungrateful swine. Wish us luck.”

“Do  _ not _ wish us luck,” Geralt said, looming up from the other side of Roach where he had been doing something to girths or whatever sort of horsey hardware one dealt with before setting off. 

“I never would,” said Jaskier. He’d got an earful about that very early on in their association — a muddled thing where Geralt believed both that success didn’t depend on luck if you knew what you were doing so you shouldn’t want or accept such wishes, and that an overt wish of luck was the one thing certain to make luck flee when you needed it (not that he would admit to needing it because he knew what he was doing). They’d settled on “Good hunting” as something he could say without getting Geralt’s hackles up — or at least he had come up with it and Geralt had tolerated it, which was as close to settling things together as they’d come in their early days. Sometimes he really wondered why he had put up with all that ill-temper when he wasn’t even getting laid for his trouble, but being hopelessly in love was a silly thing and you couldn’t do anything about that. 

So he and Ciri sent them off with “Good hunting” and then turned to contemplate the day. 

Jaskier thought he might have his work cut out to keep Ciri busy so she didn’t dwell on and sulk about not being taken on the hunt, but she seemed quite cheerful today. Her talk with Yennefer had clearly eased her mind a lot. They went around the shops doing a proper re-provisioning. Geralt would complain about the price of things — anything that couldn’t be produced locally, obviously, was expensive because it had to be brought up into the mountains at some inconvenience — but that didn’t mean they stopped needing soap or flour. Besides, he liked to think he was quite good at bargaining, if not to get a lower price all the time, at least to get little extras on top. 

“You do know they’re just giving you things they had too much of anyway,” Ciri said as they left the chandlery, where as well as candles he’d got some scarlet sealing wax thrown in. “What are you going to do with that? You don’t write letters.”

“You are so cynical for such a fresh-faced maiden. It’s better to have sealing wax and not need it than need sealing wax and not have it. Besides, it smells nice. Smell it.”

“You could go about with a sign pinned on you, ‘This man can be sold anything that smells nice.’”

“Well, next I’m buying vinegar, so there.”

The vinegar was to clean the midnight blue suit, ready to look its best tonight. He sponged it carefully then hung it up to let the vinegar smell air out. They were in and around the caravan today, since Geralt was still unconvinced on taking the inn rooms for a second night and presumably needed to come back rich in teeth to loosen his purse strings. Ciri sat out on the steps in the sun making indifferent efforts to mend a tear in one of her shirts while wistfully watching a couple of girls about her age who looked to be playing some kind of imaginary game on a patch of waste ground between two houses opposite; they were walking round and round and addressing each other with grand gestures. Jaskier could see them through the open door from where he sat inside doing a bit of maintenance on his lute so she could look her best tonight too. 

After a while they seemed to notice Ciri and held a short consultation, glancing over at her, before advancing across the street to ask her if she wanted to join them because they needed someone to be a knight and she was tall. 

She looked back at him uncertainly. “Can I go, Dad?”

“Of course. You’re not getting far with that shirt — leave it with me.”

It was rather funny to watch Ciri pretending with a stick rather than a real sword, trying to act as if she only knew how to pretend. As far as he could tell, the other two were pretending to be princesses. There was a lot of fighting off invisible enemies to defend them, urgently running to and fro, gallantly picking them up and carrying them over things, kneeling and pledging fealty. One princess was timid and liked to cower and be rescued while the other was more spunky and inclined to try to help the knight by throwing stones at the enemy, and they both bandaged up her wounds afterwards. Eventually the knight succumbed after defeating a particularly ferocious enemy (from the way Ciri slashed the air above her head with the stick it looked to be a giant) and died very slowly and beautifully, with a lot of tears and hand-kissing, before the princesses crowned her with a garland of daisies and buried her by placing a couple of old sacks over her. They had a very satisfying little mourn over her grave and then went home for lunch. 

She came back bright-eyed and pink-cheeked and hungry. “That was great fun,” she said, ransacking the cupboard for bread and salami, “and I’m meeting them again in the afternoon to go to the river.”

“Couldn’t be more pleased for you, chicken. I did wonder if the game would seem a bit silly and unreal to you.”

“It’s fun  _ because  _ it’s silly and unreal,” she said, eating busily. “And they were both so nice. Annika’s a year older than me and Mina’s six months younger. They’re cousins and their mothers have a little brewery together. I did want to tell them a few times what they were getting wrong, but I realised it didn’t really matter. They just wanted to feel important and beautiful and for me to be brave and dramatic so I did. I — I thought I would feel annoyed with them for having no idea what it’s like to really be in danger, and have to bite it back to be able to play with them, but I found I didn’t. I want to protect girls like them. Do you think  _ that’s  _ silly?”

“I think it’s chivalrous and lovely,” he said firmly. “And making girls feel important and beautiful is always worth the effort.” He did feel a very slight qualm of conscience about letting her run off to play by the river out of his sight, but Geralt wasn’t here to ask and they were in a walled town, for goodness sake, the river ran in and out through gates in the walls, Ciri was practically unrecognisable these days (she had grown easily three inches taller and her porcelain princess complexion was tanned golden), she was with two nice little girls and perfectly capable of extricating herself from trouble. It could only do her good. 

After eating, he looked over his set list again and was making a last-minute change in order when inspiration struck him. It wasn’t the sort you could say came from anywhere, like the hurdy-gurdy song being suggested by Yennefer; it was the kind that felt as if your mind were just nice damp soil that some windblown dandelion seeds or mushroom spores had landed on, from who knew where, and sprouted. He started scribbling frantically to get it down; he didn’t expect to come up with a finished song today but he could get the bones of it. 

“Idea?” Ciri asked, looking up from re-plaiting her hair, which had been somewhat dishevelled by adventures and dying. 

“A  _ great _ idea. I mean, it’s not original, but putting the two together is original. You know all those ballads about Georg of the Greenwood?”

“The heroic outlaw who defends the poor and makes Geralt snort and roll his eyes,” she said. “He reckons you used to get  _ real _ Georg of the Greenwood stories when he was young but then some dickhead decided Georg should be a lord in disguise looking out for the common folk and that spoiled it.”

“Right, but they’re massive crowd-pleasers and rather fun. And then you know all those ballads about the shitty sheriff who tries to abuse his authority but always gets his comeuppance from some clever commoner?”

“Yes, he likes those ones better.”

“I’m putting them together. Georg versus the sheriff, defeating his dastardly schemes. They’ll love it.”

“Geralt’s going to hate it, but I see what you mean. They’d make great enemies.”

“I know! Look, the fact is, Geralt’s a grumpy old man who’s just lucky enough to look young and handsome. The irony is, all my most popular songs that he thinks are embarrassing or pretentious or give people the wrong idea, I’ve come up with because being in love with him gives me inspiration. I have to be in love to do my best work, it’s just how my brain works.”

“But aren’t you in love with him all the time?” Ciri asked, crinkling her nose. “Not just when you get ideas?”

“There’s general background being in love, and then there are sort of extra spurts of being in love, which tend to arrive at unpredictable intervals, like inspiration. That’s how it works for me, anyway.”

“I think the way it works for you is pretty unique to you, no offence.”

“Well, it works like billy-oh, so shh, I’m writing this down before I can forget.” He scribbled away until he had to stop and sharpen his pencil with his pocket-knife, then scribbled more before the idea could peter out. During all the scribbling, Ciri bundled some things into a bag, gave him a peck on the cheek and hurried out. He didn’t see her again until about sunset, when she came home with her trouser legs wet to the knees, assorted scratches and bruises all over her hands and arms, one huge scratch at the top of her chest under her collarbones (which had just about stopped bleeding), and a bigger smile because as far as Annika and Mina were concerned she was their heroic protector and the best knight they’d inveigled into their games yet. There was no sign yet of Geralt and Yennefer, and he was getting dressed ready to go and perform at the inn. 

“You can come with me,” he said, “we’ll just find you a cosy spot where you can keep out of trouble. No fighting, no gambling, no hard liquor, you’ll be fine. What happened there?” He gestured vaguely at the large scratch.

“I had a duel with this dumb boy with sticks,” she said. “He fell on his arse in the water, it was grand. But he did get in one good swipe at me before that. It’s been so  _ nice. _ I did what you said, I’ve just been Fiona and acted like there was nothing different about me. I know I’m pretending, but then, they’re pretending to be princesses. I know we’re not going to be here for long, but that means there isn’t that much time for things to go wrong.”

“Spoken like my daughter,” he said, debating in front of the mirror whether he should button himself up to the collar to look elegant or pop a few buttons to look rakish and fun. He settled on rakish; it was an inn in a mining town, after all. The place was a lot more prosperous and substantial-looking than he had imagined when he’d heard Geralt say “mining settlement,” but then perhaps that reflected the difference between the place when Geralt had begun coming here, possibly before he was even born, and what it had grown into. Nevertheless, it still wasn’t elegant. “How do I look?” he asked Ciri, straightening up. 

“Very cute,” she said kindly. 

“I’m not really going for cute, but I’ll take it. It’s silly, but I’m nervous. I  _ want  _ to get out there and perform like anything, but I’m afraid they won’t like me. Ridiculous. People  _ do _ like me, it’s one of the things I’m good at.”

“You do look a bit sweaty.” She patted his arm briskly. “Come on, pull yourself together. I believe in you and so on.”

As it turned out, it was one of those nights of which you get just a few in a career, when  _ everything  _ went right. What he had to offer and what the audience wanted to receive were so well aligned it was almost spooky. He didn’t need to win them over; by some mysterious conjunction of the stars or whatever, they had all gone to the inn that night bound and determined to enjoy themselves and fully amenable to enjoying him. The audience actually grew as a few people went out to find friends and brought them back to hear him. He did remember what Geralt said about their being starved for entertainment — towns devoid of local talent did exist, he supposed — but it was still tremendously flattering to be feasted on like this. 

He’d chosen the right songs — a mixture of old favourites everyone knew and could join in on the choruses, newer songs that at least a few people had heard and perked up for, and a little bit of entirely fresh material. They  _ loved _ the hurdy-gurdy Audrey song, possibly more than it deserved at this stage of its development, not that he cared when he was being borne aloft on a surge of delight and approval. His jokes were funny, his appeals to emotion touched the heart, and his innuendos presumably tickled other body parts. He was elated as he circulated; he could do anything. He felt gorgeous and vital and Geralt was most certainly getting fucked tonight. 

That was if he ever showed his face, but maybe he was too tired or beaten up from the hunt. Presumably nothing too bad had happened because about midway through the evening Yennefer came in, looking somewhat dusty but generally unharmed. He’d caught her eye and she smiled, which was pleasing both for the fact that she smiled and that he found he enjoyed it so much, before going over to the corner spot where Ciri was and sitting with her. After a little while they left together, Ciri waving goodbye. He was having far too much fun to consider following them. 

Still, even if Geralt wasn’t going to be there, he wanted to include him in the performance somehow, so after a break and a drink he began “Toss a Coin.” Here he had the gratification of finding his own song was very firmly in the “old favourite” category; they practically roared the chorus back to him. What a pity Geralt wasn’t there, he would have been so embarrassed! 

“I’ve heard a rumour,” he said as the applause settled down, “that there is in fact a witcher in the vicinity. I don’t know if he’ll be in tonight, but if he turns up I’m going to stop whatever I’m playing and we’ll give him a nice loud chorus of that, all right? Let him know we appreciate him.” They liked that idea, and he followed up with “Chamomile and Buttercup,” since that song was dedicated to Geralt too, in his heart — and then “The Most Beautiful,” for the same reason and for a change of pace. They seemed to be enjoying a more soulful mood, so he went on to “Her Sweet Kiss,” and was about halfway through when the door quietly opened and Geralt came in. He seemed to be trying to be unobtrusive, something he’d never been particularly good at outside of a forest, but it worked this time because all eyes were on Jaskier, who only noticed Geralt because he was sweeping the room with a mournful gaze. It was hard to sustain a mournful expression when his face wanted to light up like a sunbeam. He didn’t change the song yet, though, because he wanted to just quietly enjoy seeing Geralt by himself for a few moments, before anyone else knew he was there. 

He must have had a wash and changed, because there was no way he had come back from a hunt this clean. He’d got hurt again, with a cut on one cheekbone surrounded by fresh bruising, and there was a bandage on his right forearm with a few dots of red soaked through, but Jaskier could only think that he looked lovely with his hair clean and damp, his shirtsleeves rolled up, his arms crossed as he leaned against the door by the wall, watching him. His eyes were soft and warm, although tired, and a fizzy rush of  _ he loves me he’s proud of me he’s waiting for me  _ went through Jaskier.  _ And now I’m going to embarrass him horribly.  _

He dropped the tune and struck a loud chord, then called out “Toss—“

And bless their little silver-digging hearts, they caught on instantly and bellowed out “A COIN TO YOUR WITCHER, OH VALLEY OF PLENTY” while all craning around to see where the witcher was. Geralt’s eyes snapped wide and Jaskier could have sworn his hair puffed out a bit. He visibly considered bolting, but people were spotting him and turning towards him, merrily singing about him and flinging coins at his feet. He had nowhere to go and was constitutionally incapable of just enjoying the attention but also aware of how churlish and self-sabotaging it would be to spurn their generosity, so he just stood there red to the ears trying not to look actively ungrateful but unable to go so far as smiling.

He looked daggers at Jaskier as he swaggered over to him, still playing and singing, changing the words just a little, “toss a coin to  _ my _ witcher,” “a friend to this community,” beaming at him and daring him not to be charmed. Jaskier was fairly sure he saw him silently mutter “arsehole,” as he passed close by, circling around him as he led the room in a final thundering chorus and finished with a strumming flourish and a bow. 

“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen! Thank you, one and all, and please pardon his shyness! He’s unaccustomed to such kindness.” He grabbed an empty pitcher from a table and bent to shovel the scattered coins into it — he was overjoyed to  _ embarrass _ Geralt but not to  _ humiliate  _ him, and it would be humiliating for him to have to scrabble on the floor for money. While he was down there he heard a general cry of “Aw!” and looked up to see Geralt was escaping through the door to the street. “Thank you! Thank you! I’ll make sure he gets this.” He hurried out into the warm summer night. 

No Geralt; he looked to left and right. “Geralt? Come on, don’t be cross.” He began to walk in the direction of the spot where the caravan was parked, passing a dark alleyway beside the inn, and was abruptly grabbed by a strong hand lunging out of the shadows and yanked in, almost spun off his feet (which would have been frightening except that he recognised Geralt’s smell as soon as he was close, even in the dark), then grabbed again by his lapels and pulled into a lip-bruising kiss in the course of which his tongue was bitten quite painfully. 

“Be nice to me,” he begged, and then yelped because Geralt had grabbed his bottom in both hands and was kneading his bruises. 

“Why? You’re not nice to me.”

“I  _ am. _ And I’m so cute. And look, money.” He jingled the pitcher between them. “Cute boyfriend, money, things you like, right?”

“I like the money. I don’t know about you.”

“Yeah, but you’re still, albeit painfully, fondling my bum.”

Geralt sighed heavily. “Why are you always so godawful?”

“Am I  _ awful?” _

Another exasperated sigh. “No. You’re an impulsive prick, though.”

“Oh yes, I know,” he agreed readily. “I couldn’t resist. It was just so funny. And you  _ deserve _ accolades, and choruses in your honour.”

“I don’t want them that badly. I was just enjoying watching you.”

“I’m sorry, love. How can I make it up to you?”

“Just don’t do it again. Let me enjoy you instead of… fucking around trying to be smart.”

“Well, I didn’t really think I was being all  _ that _ smart,” Jaskier admitted. “I’m a little encumbered here, between my lute and this pitcher. Shall we go somewhere I can set both of them down and be more enjoyable? Did you get us a room for the night?” He jingled the coins again. “You can afford to.”

“Come on,” said Geralt. He took Jaskier’s free hand and pulled him along towards the caravan. Jaskier was caught between disappointment at the idea of just spending the night curled up in the bunk together, when he’d been primed for more, and a certain thrill at the fact they were holding hands in public. In public on a dark street at night with hardly anyone passing by, true, but it was still a real public hand-hold of the sort you could generally only enjoy among like-minded people. Maybe that would hold him for now.

When they drew level with the area where carts, wagons and the caravan were drawn up, though, and a light was showing under the caravan’s door, Geralt didn’t go up to it. He crossed over the street to the patch of waste-ground where the girls had played their knight and princesses game in the morning, and appeared to pat the air. After a moment he seemed to find what he was looking for, and pulled the air  _ aside _ to reveal an opening into another space. 

“It turns  _ invisible?” _ Jaskier asked in an astonished whisper.

“More private,” Geralt said, shrugging. “Yen’ll be joining us later after Ciri’s asleep. But until then —”

“Until then, fuck tent, yay!” Jaskier darted in past him. Geralt followed, dropping the door flap behind him. It was so  _ nice _ in here, with the air soft and scented (the bathtub was out, he noted with approval) and everything arranged for comfort and a touch of decadence. He put the pitcher and the lute both down on the chest of drawers and turned to throw his arms around Geralt and kiss him. “You smell wonderful,” he breathed against his lips. “You want to hear that now, don’t you?”

“You smell sweaty.”

“I’ve been performing in a warm room with a lot of people making it warmer, so yes. I’ll get in the bath.”

“No, I like you sweaty.” Geralt’s hands were moving down his front, undoing buttons — not ripping them off this time. He kissed Jaskier’s cheek high up and back, just under the hairline where a drop of sweat was creeping down in front of his ear, and pushed his jacket off his shoulders. They let it drop to the floor and Jaskier felt Geralt’s hands skimming over his chest and his sides, where the thin linen of his shirt clung damply to the skin. He returned to kissing his lips, breathing low and deep. “Your clean sweat is one of the best smells I know. I’ve told you that before. When I see your skin shining like that my mouth waters.”

“You didn’t say your mouth waters. At this late stage you tell me one of the sexiest things I’ve ever heard.”

“Here.” Geralt peeled off his shirt and dropped it, kissing him as he smoothed his hands down his back, then up his sides, slipping his thumbs into his armpits to stroke the damp hair there. 

“That’s nearly tickling me,” Jaskier said, with a little flutter in his breathing. 

“I might be touching you too lightly. Trying to be gentle and control myself this time.”

“I think it’s safe to be a little bit firmer.”

“Think so?”

“We’re both pretty calm and intelligent right now, I trust us.”

“But look what we did last night.” He slid his hands to Jaskier’s chest, pressing a little more firmly, and brushed his thumbs across his nipples. Jaskier breathed in sharply. 

“Not too bad,” he said. 

“They’re still red.”

“Oh no. What could make them feel better, I wonder aloud?”

Geralt bent and very softly licked them, left, then right, and glanced up from under his brows. In fact it stung a little, but there was a stronger tingle of pleasure, so he said, “Much better” and stroked Geralt’s hair as he continued, feeling as if he would melt with those wild yellow eyes turned up to him. After teasing both nipples until they pulsed, Geralt dragged his tongue up the centre of his chest, then slid to one side, licking his neck. 

“There’s another place we got into trouble last night,” Jaskier sighed, closing his yes. 

“Only tasting this time,” said Geralt, and stroked his tongue across Jaskier’s throat and up the other side of his neck. He shivered and curled his fingers into Geralt’s hair. 

“This feels… very dangerous and silly, so I like it a lot.” Geralt was flickering the tip of his tongue at his earlobe before delicately biting it, just holding it between his teeth. “Hnnhhh… no teeth, love, teeth are naughty.”

Geralt came up to kiss his mouth again, his tongue smooth and hot and undulating against Jaskier’s. One hand slid down to cup and rub the bulge of his cock through his trousers. 

“Do you like the feel of that?” Jaskier breathed. 

“You know I do.”

“But I like to hear it.”

“And I know you do.”

“Come on,” Jaskier purred, turning his eyes up to Geralt’s, “tell me what you want.”

“I want you to fuck me,” Geralt said, his voice down on a level that made Jaskier’s knees feel like warm water. “I want to feel this pushing deep and hard into my arse, pumping right up into my gut, rubbing places that feel so good I can’t breathe, fucking me till I can’t stop coming.”

Jaskier made a little smothered noise of delight and kissed him, pressing up hard to his body. “Oh, I love you. The  _ eloquence.  _ Come on. On the bed.” He grabbed Geralt’s arm to pull him over, felt the bandage and snatched his hand away. “Shit, sorry.” 

“It’s not that bad.”

“What happened here?” he asked, touching it more gently. “Some very dumb vampire who doesn’t know they’re supposed to go for the throat?”

“Bright enough to drag off one of my gauntlets, not that that helped it once Yen got to it. She was…” Clearly words failed him but he looked starry-eyed at the thought. 

“Amazing?” Jaskier suggested. 

“Yes. And more. But,” Geralt said, “she is not here now, and you are. It’s you I want.”

“I knew I liked you for a reason. Let’s go.”

They were kneeling on the bed and he was pulling off Geralt’s shirt when he found the scratches on his back and shoulders. “Are these  _ vampire _ scratches?”

“No,” Geralt said, pushing back his hair with one hand. 

“I somehow didn’t think you let  _ them _ get your top off.”

“They were dead by that time.”

“You had a celebration fuck in a den full of dead vampires?”

“Better than a den full of undead vampires,” Geralt pointed out, correctly.

“So in my experience, you don’t actually get horny from killing things. Did you get horny from  _ teamwork?” _

“Partly?” said Geralt as if he wasn’t too sure himself. “I felt like destroying something evil together was… romantic.”

Jaskier stroked his unbruised cheek. “You’re such an interesting tangle of things, you know. I think I know how your mind works and then you puzzle me again. Swept away by romance. Was it good?”

“Yes, but uncomfortable afterwards. When my head cleared and I really noticed the kind of place it was again. I felt morbid. In the moment, though, it was wonderful.”

“Considering how spooky Yen is, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d had it on some kind of wish list. Bonk hot boyfriend on floor of charnel house. Tick! What’s next?”

“I thought you liked her now.”

“I do! Next item on the agenda was clearly to scrub him thoroughly and send him back to Jaskier. Not her personal wish list, but a kindness to me.”

“Well, she didn’t scrub me herself, but I’m glad you see her kindness.”

“Next on  _ my _ list is get Geralt’s pants off.”

He was hurt there too, a big purple bruise near the top of his right thigh and another attempt at a bite at the back of the left. 

“How many vampires  _ were _ there?” Jaskier asked. 

“It was a big nest. Say three dozen? I haven’t counted the teeth we took, and you always miss some.”

“Did Yen get battered too?”

“No, she’s a lot nimbler than I am. And she used me as a shield — like I told her to.”

“While your heart and other parts swelled at the thought you were protecting your lady-love.”

“No parts swelled until the fight was over.”

“Ah, but a part’s swelled for me.” He pushed Geralt onto his back and lay down to kiss him while rubbing his cock. “Are you sure you’re not too tired?”

“Do I feel tired to you?” Geralt asked, settling comfortably back against the pillows.

“You feel a  _ bit _ tired, but still very willing and loving. And hard. Geralt? Can I tell you one more time that your body is utterly beautiful?”

“If you like hair and scars,” Geralt said with a small smile.

“Luckily, I love both. And, as you know, muscle. Which you possess in abundance.” He shifted to kiss Geralt’s chest and suck his nipples, feeling them stiffen under his tongue while his hand worked steadily over the thick shaft and sleek head of his cock. Geralt gave a low hum of pleasure and shifted his hips, raising his knees a little and parting his thighs. 

“I’m not too tired,” he said, “but it would feel good to have my back rubbed, then my arse,  _ then _ be fucked. Face down this time.”

“Roll over, then. I’ll find some oil.”

Rather than just roll over sideways on the pillows, Geralt sat up and turned over to lie with his head towards the foot of the bed, pulling out the tie in his hair and bundling all of it up into a rough knot before resting his head on his folded arms. He grunted softly when he felt warm, oiled hands firmly grip and knead the nape of his neck. 

“It’s all stiff here,” Jaskier murmured, working with his thumbs at the base of Geralt’s skull. He heard Geralt puff out his breath in relief. 

“You know how it gets,” he said. 

“I do. Isn’t it lucky how much I enjoy rubbing and stroking your great thick neck? Feeling how strong you are?”

“Hmmm.”

“And your shoulders… ooh.”

“Hair and scars.”

“You don’t have hairy shoulders. Not my cup of tea at all. And yes, scars. This one has healed up really nicely. Not raised at all.” He shuffled down Geralt’s back, working gently over the scratches, until he reached the lower area where he needed to use his elbows to work out the tension. This wasn’t the sexy part of the massage but it ensured Geralt was relaxed, and it was satisfying to feel him melting and hear him grunting and sighing as he did. “I love your noises. No one else I know can put as many different spins on going  _ hmmm. _ In fact I’d say over half of your sex noises are variations on  _ hmmm. _ You’re my hummingbird.”

“Call me a hummingbird again and see how far you get.”

“No, I get it, your cheeks would slam shut like iron gates.” He slid his hands down to them and squeezed. “We don’t want  _ that.” _

Geralt made a sound that might or might not have been a muffled laugh and blended into a contented rumble. 

“I take pretty good care of you, don’t I?”

“Always have.” He flexed his back as Jaskier massaged his buttocks.

“I have, haven’t I? From the first time I slid into your quivering virgin… valley of plenty.” He slid his fingers into it and rubbed the sensitive little pucker. 

Geralt sputtered into the back of his arm. “That’s worse than hummingbird.”

“I know. Sometimes I just can’t help myself.”

_ “Quivering virgin.” _

“Oh, I thought it was the valley of plenty you objected to.”

“I didn’t fucking quiver.”

“You quivered,” Jaskier said, pressing his middle finger in and enjoying the way Geralt yielded to it. “You quivered, trembled and shuddered. It was great. If you want to remember you were… were  _ composed _ or something, fine, but I felt it.”

“Fine.”

“I was quivering a bit too, I was so excited.”

“I felt that.”

“Felt good, didn’t it? Being wanted like that? Feeling how much I loved you? Knowing I was going to save you  _ and _ it was going to feel incredible?”

_ “Yes.” _ Geralt reared up under him, rising on his knees. “Come on. Fuck me just like that.” 

“Here it is. Oh, you’re quivering again.” He pushed a deep groan out of Geralt as he thrust in. 

“Just a muscle spasm,” Geralt said faintly. He pushed back against Jaskier and shifted his forward weight onto one arm, bringing the other hand under his belly to rub and pull his cock, chuffing softly. 

“No, I’m not having that. You’re a big strong man who slays vampires and saves people  _ and _ you are a tender little flower who eagerly offers his arse for a fucking. Above all, you’re a  _ good boy.” _ He wanted to keep making the point but actually fucking Geralt felt too good for him to focus on talking. He held Geralt’s hips and pumped into him deeply, biting his lip at the delicious warm slickness. The best part about this position apart from that was the view up Geralt’s strong, sleek back, muscles bunching and flexing and skin shining like satin with oil. To keep his hair off his neck for the massage he had done it up into a messy, off-centre little bun that was bobbing as he moved, and the combination of how gorgeous he was with that imperfect and frankly silly-looking little touch overwhelmed Jaskier with giddy, starry-eyed love. He reached out and pulled the tie loose so Geralt’s hair spilled free. His finger got caught in a loop of it and he heard Geralt give a little hiss in response. He tried combing his fingers in and curling them against Geralt’s scalp just enough to put a little tension on it, and Geralt moaned. 

“Like that?” He tugged slightly. The answer was an urgent whine and a tightening around his cock that made his hips jerk. “Tell me, do you like it?”

“Yes!”

_ “Good.” _ He gave it a sharper tug and thrust faster, panting. He wanted to do so much more with this, but he couldn’t figure it out just now. “Good boy, keep taking it just like that!” They were reaching a fever pitch and Geralt’s moans were rising desperately when the tent flap swung and Yennefer slipped through, still in the black-lavender suit, with a bottle of wine in hand, saying cheerfully, “Well, she was tired out —” She stopped and exclaimed “Oh!”

Geralt made an anguished sound and dropped his head; Jaskier lost his breath for a moment, because he had just been squeezed tight enough for it to hurt a bit, and he thought it had probably hurt Geralt too. 

“Well, don’t mind me,” Yennefer said brightly. “Carry on.”

“You all right, love?” Jaskier asked, patting Geralt’s back. He could feel him shaking. He looked up at Yennefer. “We weren’t expecting you this early.”

“What’s… wrong here?” Yennefer asked. “Because this is my tent, but I’m feeling like an intruder.”

“Uh, Geralt’s not really comfortable with you seeing him like this,” Jaskier said, still patting ineffectually.

“What? Naked? Fucking? That doesn’t make any sense.” She bent and tried to see Geralt’s face, hidden by his arm. “What’s the matter with you, Geralt? Come on, give me a nice show like you did before.” She ruffled his hair, sat down on the end of the bed and sipped from the bottle. 

_ Well,  _ she _ doesn’t get it, and I’m afraid he’s miserable, and I’ve still got my dick up his bum which makes it extra awkward to try to defuse the situation.  _ “Geralt, love, if you don’t talk to me I’m going to be worried. Just tell me, do you want me to stay where I am or take it out?”

“Stay put,” Geralt said, muffled. 

“Okay. Listen, everything’s all right. You can see Yen doesn’t mind this at all, right? So you don’t need to be embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed?” repeated Yennefer. “Oh, for goodness’ sake.” She lay down on her side, trying to see Geralt’s face. Although the wine bottle seemed to be nearly full, she seemed a little tipsy already, and Jaskier tried unsuccessfully to remember whether she had had a few drinks in the bar before she took Ciri home. “Geralt,” she said. “Look at me. Are you embarrassed?”

“Of course I’m fucking embarrassed,” he said, still not looking at her, and he was starting to sound angry. Both his hands now were holding bunches of sheet, and they were tightening into fists.

“Still hard though,” she said, glancing under his body. “It looks as if until I got here you were having a  _ splendid _ time. And maybe,” she went on, playing with a strand of his hair, “you’re still hard not just because there’s a nice big cock filling you up, but because you  _ are _ embarrassed, hmm?”

“Go easy, Yen,” said Jaskier. He appreciated her calling it both nice and big, but he was a bit worried she was going to push Geralt too far and he’d both lose his temper  _ and _ feel deeply distressed and go off to sulk and no one would have a good time tonight. And he had been having a  _ perfect _ time tonight up to now so he would appreciate it if that did not eventuate.

“You are far too soft on him,” Yennefer said, looking up at Jaskier. “He responds so well to a firm hand. I’m not suggesting you be cruel to him, but don’t indulge this kind of drama. Come on now, Geralt.” She took a handful of his hair and lifted his head, turning his face towards her. Jaskier couldn’t see it, but he could see hers, and she smiled like a purring cat at what she saw. “Oh, look at him,” she said. “He’s beside himself. You want me to see you come, don’t you?”

Geralt made a faint pleading noise. 

“You want to show me how hard you come, all over yourself, getting fucked like a little slut. I bet you can’t come that hard from anything else, can you?”

“Yen,” Jaskier said anxiously.

“Stop twittering and fuck him,” said Yennefer. 

“Uh, no, I’m not going to do that till I hear  _ him _ ask me to.”

“Oh! Good point. Geralt, if you want Jaskier to keep fucking you, you’ll have to ask nicely.”

“Please,” Geralt said, his voice cracking. 

“That’s not good enough,” said Yennefer, letting go of his hair and dotting her finger on the tip of his nose. “Say please, Jaskier, fuck me like the slut I am.”

“Please, Jaskier, fuck me like the slut I am,” Geralt said in a rush.

“Oh. Uh. Yes!” That had sent a surge of heat through him that completely undid the anxious cooling-off. He drew back and plunged in.

_ “Good _ boy,” said Yennefer indulgently. “Don’t you feel better?” Geralt moaned and grabbed his own cock again. “Jaskier, do you let him play with himself like that?”

“Oh yes. I encourage it. Fuck, Geralt! You’re so  _ hot. Such _ a good boy.”

Geralt cried out hoarsely, pumping back against him. He was masturbating frantically with Yennefer playing with his hair and giving it little tugs. Jaskier’s hips slapped sharply against Geralt’s rump and he felt a climax building down low, tension pulling tighter and tighter until it snapped with a rush of release and delight that made him see stars. Geralt was bucking and twitching under him and giving desperate cries as he came. He slumped down with his knees sprawled apart, and Jaskier lay half on top of him, panting. 

“Oh… oh, that was fantastic… oh, Geralt, my lovely boy, you were perfect.”

“He was pretty good,” said Yennefer, sitting up and swigging from the bottle she had been cradling, then stroking Geralt’s hair back from his flushed, sweating cheek as he lay with his head on one side. “Weren’t you? You asked for what you wanted. I think there are more things you want too, aren’t there? But that was a really nice start.”

“Hrrmmm.” Geralt cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “Oh…”

“That was beautiful, wasn’t it?” Jaskier asked him, stroking his back. “Talk to me, love. Are you happy?”

“Mmmm.”

“Did you come all over yourself like Yen said?”

“Umm…” He pushed himself up a bit on his arms and looked at the sheets under him. “Yes.”

“Made a puddle and then fell in it,” said Yennefer, with satisfaction. “Come here, you messy slut.”

“Give me that,” Jaskier said. He dismounted from Geralt and held out his hand for the wine, and drank deeply. “Well. Cheers, everybody.” Geralt was sitting up again now, kissing Yennefer rapturously, but he turned when Jaskier began to get off the bed, dragged him back and kissed him too. “I love you too, I was just going to clean myself up a bit,” he said. Geralt looked half-drunk with love and afterglow, and he held Jaskier tight for a long moment more before letting him go and flopping back to lie on the pillows. 

“I did consider bringing glasses,” said Yennefer, taking the bottle back from Jaskier as he passed her, “but in the circumstances, are we going to be precious about all putting our mouths on the same bottle neck? I don’t think so.” She offered it to Geralt, who shook his head; he still seemed to be getting his breath back. “Get your rest now,” she said, “I’m going to be pretty demanding.”

“You already scratched him to ribbons,” Jaskier said, stepping into the bath, “so nice work on that.”

“That wasn’t completely on purpose,” she said. “Still, I’m glad we did that part before he stepped on a rotten spot in the floor and fell through to what looked like five hundred years of bat guano.”

“Good grief,” said Jaskier. “I sometimes think he’s magnetised to messes.”

“Explains his attraction to you,” she said, smiling and toasting him with the bottle.

“And you!” he said, beaming and giving her a two-finger salute.

“Anyway, I wouldn’t touch him after that and I made him stand under a small waterfall on the way back to get rid of the worst of it. Successful hunt, though. I felt quite heroic. Although I do still have some suspiciously ashy dust in my hair, so when you’ve finished there, Jaskier, I’m getting in.”

“Right you are, this is just a quick spot wash.” He finished and got up as she left her clothes, or his, lying in a heap on the floor and came over to get in. It was the best look he’d had at her so far, and he gave her a look of admiration. She was actually a little too thin, to his eyes, but she had beautiful skin and pretty little breasts and she moved gracefully. There were one or two bruises to show that she hadn’t entirely avoided danger during the hunt. She slipped into the water with a sigh. 

He wrapped himself in a warm towel and went to lie beside Geralt, who was still gazing dreamily at the canopy. “Hallo,” said Jaskier, nudging him with his knee. “How’re you?”

Geralt turned his head to kiss him. 

“You’re not feeling very verbal now, are you?”

“I’m fine. Just… very relaxed.”

“That was a series of surprises.”

“I was sure she’d…” He trailed off. 

“I was sure  _ you _ were going to hate what she was saying, not get even more excited.”

“Of course he wasn’t,” Yennefer said from the tub. “Geralt’s a slut for praise and  _ loves _ me bossing him around. He’s like a nettle. You just have to grasp him firmly.”

“I’m definitely more of a nettle than a flower,” Geralt said. 

“You’re my little flower and don’t argue,” Jaskier said, smiling. “Anyway, I grasp you firmly all the time.”

“What I don’t understand is why you were so embarrassed,” Yennefer said, lathering her hair. “Was I not supposed to know Jaskier fucks you?”

“No,” Geralt admitted. “I didn’t want you to see me like that. I asked Jaskier to act like it only went the other way, and help me keep it a secret.”

“But Jaskier  _ told _ me.”

“I did not!” Jaskier exclaimed. 

“Why would you tell her that?” Geralt snapped, sitting up. 

“I never did.”

“I distinctly remember because he deliberately said it in a provocative way, trying to scandalise me.”

“She’s making it up!” Jaskier protested.

“I was feeling stroppy and asked something like why I should share Geralt when I can give him everything he wants, and you said words to the effect, ‘You can’t give him dick.’ Pretty unambiguous.”

“Ohhhh,” said Jaskier, remembering. “You know, in my defence, that  _ was  _ before you asked me not to tell her.”

“Why would you  _ tell _ her that, even so?” Geralt demanded.

“I wanted to wipe the smug look off her face. I wanted to let her know that I wasn’t just a — a desperate place-filler you picked up when you couldn’t have her. I wanted to see if she’d spill wine on her pretty dress. I got two out of three. One and a half, the smug look wavered but it came back pretty soon.”

“Well, it did surprise me,” said Yennefer, “but I thought a bit and realised I was being a bit lazy there, just assuming the big one tops the little one — and as Jaskier pointed out at some stage, you’re not even that much bigger than him, I just had that impression because you have such a presence.”

“Same height,” Jaskier said. “Basically. Give or take differences in footwear.”

“I’m taller than you,” Geralt said. 

“Barely!”

“I am. Remember when you saw the height marks on the doorpost at Kaer Morhen and kept being a dick about my late growth spurt and wanted to measure Ciri’s height over the winter and she marked our heights too? Barefoot, standing up straight, I am taller than you.” 

“Do you feel better? Trifling point of superiority asserted?” Jaskier asked. 

“A little, yeah.”

“I was having a bad posture day. Yen, we’re  _ basically _ the same height, right?”

Yen was surfacing from rinsing her hair. “Whatever you just asked me,” she said, “I stopped listening when you started bickering. That feels much better. Anyway, it wasn’t a secret, Geralt, sorry you thought it was. I’m not sure why you felt you had to hide it.”

“I was ashamed,” Geralt mumbled.

“So why was it okay to do the shameful thing to Jaskier in front of me?” she asked, arching an eyebrow. 

“Ooh, I know! I have no shame,” said Jaskier. “Whereas Geralt has too much.”

“I thought you’d think less of me,” Geralt said in a kind of lower still sub-mumble. “As a man.”

“And you couldn’t think less of me,” said Jaskier, “if you thought of me as a man at all!” They looked at him. “That was supposed to be a joke,” he said. “To try and lighten the mood.”

“You’re overdoing it,” said Yennefer, then turned her attention away from him. “Geralt, I’m not sure whether I said or did something that made you think that, or whether you’ve just brought the notion along from your life before we met, but no, I don’t think any less of you because you’re not constantly dominant and in control. You know how much  _ I _ like to be in control. What would I even  _ do _ with a man who doesn’t like to yield? I like it  _ more _ this way. Do you have any idea how wet I was seeing you surrender like that?”

“I do have to say,” Jaskier said, touching Geralt’s cheek, “that was  _ incredibly _ hot. I always love it when you beg me to fuck you.”

“Oh! He often begs you to fuck him?” Yennefer asked eagerly, turning to rest her chin on the rim of the bathtub. 

“I don’t beg, I — I urge,” said Geralt. 

“Love. You beg. You say please. And sometimes I tease you and make you wait till you’re desperate — just like you do to me sometimes, but it’s only fair we tell Yen I fuck you a lot more than you fuck me, and it’s always been like that.”

Geralt exhaled slowly, frowning. “That’s true,” he said. 

“And I’ve been kind of encouraging you along to be more submissive when you want to, because I love it and I think you do too, but I thought I needed to do it really gently so you wouldn’t bolt, not just grab you like a nettle and say down, boy.”

“There are a lot of things you can do with me,” said Geralt, “because I trust you. I’m not likely to bolt.” He took Jaskier’s hand and held it, which made him smile foolishly and feel a great warmth about his heart. 

“So hopefully,” said Yennefer, stepping out of the bath and wrapping her hair in a towel, “this is an end to the trying too hard and doing silly things like chewing up Jaskier’s neck to impress me.”

“Oh,” said Geralt, looking guilty. “I didn’t do that to impress you. That was just… we really did get carried away. I have different moods.” He was gazing at her as she walked to the bed, bringing with her another towel that she laid over the sheets before lying down on it to air-dry. 

“Well, don’t have that mood on me, or you’ll never see me again,” she said calmly. 

“Oh, I won’t. I wouldn’t. It’s different with Jaskier, and he was encouraging me.”

“Not to be more submissive,” she said, elegantly crossing her ankles in the air. 

“No, sometimes it goes exactly the other way,” said Jaskier. “Although you should know that earlier that night I’d fucked him in no uncertain terms.”

“While talking to me about what a so-called ‘good boy’ I was,” Geralt said, looking embarrassed. “Which… I like but find difficult to accept.”

“Well, if you can accept a cock up your bum I think you’ll find there’s no end to what you can accept,” Jaskier said, giving him an affectionate nudge. 

Geralt blushed deeply. “Words and physical things are different.”

“I love seeing you blush,” Jaskier said, kissing his reddened cheek. “You. The big strong stoic witcher. I love that you let me in behind that front. I always will.”

“Hmm,” said Yennefer. “Well, I enjoy calling you a good boy too, when you deserve it. I think you might have to get used to it. Liking it will help.”

“I don’t deserve it, that’s the whole thing,” Geralt said, his face falling. 

“Love, I’m not saying it as a summing up of your whole life. I’m talking about how I feel about you and how you’re behaving for me then and there,” said Jaskier. “Try and take it in that spirit, eh?”

“Yes, you don’t have to feel like a fraud, you can just revel in being praised and keep licking,” said Yennefer. 

“We give you permission — we, the ultimate arbiters of these weighty moral matters,” said Jaskier, smiling. 

“Jaskier’s probably going to do it more than I am,” Yennefer said, inspecting her fingernails, “because he’s soft on you generally.”

“I freely admit it,” said Jaskier. “I like spoiling him. I get all excited for it. When I first knew him my number one fantasy was ‘Geralt takes me roughly on the ground.’ Then it turned into ‘Geralt sees me in peril, realises he loves me, rescues me and kisses me passionately, and for some reason it’s raining and his shirt’s all wet and clinging to him.’  _ Then _ it turned into ‘I take Geralt somewhere nice and take loving care of him until he’s just perfectly contented and actually says thank you.’”

“What about all the weird fantasies with multiples of me or an audience or things like that?” Geralt asked. 

“They’re important too, but they’re not number one.”

“Wait, is there actually less sex in the fantasies as time goes on?” Yennefer asked. 

“Not at all, there’s just more lead-up to it and more romance. And water.”

“And they got more likely to come true,” said Geralt. 

“My love, at the time I was wanking myself blind to it, the fantasy where you’d gratefully accept me looking after you seemed like the least likely one.” He got off the bed and went to retrieve the wine from beside the bath. “That was from the period when you started grudgingly and ungraciously letting me do nice things for you and I was constantly confused about whether you meant it as a come-on or not. Literally any other man taking off his shirt and asking me to rub his back, alone by the campfire at night, and I’d feel sure I was well in, but you’d be like, ‘Since you’re here you may as well make yourself useful,’ without so much as a twinkle in your eye.” He sat down on the bed again and swigged. “Wouldn’t even, you know, make noises to show you were enjoying it. The best review I got was a gruff ‘That feels better.’”

“It did feel better,” said Geralt. “I know I was being confusing. I trusted you to help me with things like that but I didn’t want you to get ideas if I was too encouraging.”

“And then there was the time you came over to me all red-faced and frowning,” Jaskier reminisced, “and growled out, ‘I can’t get this myself, you’ll have to do it,’ and turned around and dropped your pants. I was stood there thinking, ‘He  _ is _ asking me to touch his bum, right?’ and wondering if this was your idea of seduction, when you held out a bottle of chamomile oil and said, ‘Just rub this on the worst parts, it’s driving me up the wall,’ and I realised you were talking about your chronic saddle rash, which I am proud to say you no longer get. So there I was, presented with the most beautiful male bottom I’d ever seen, allowing for redness, and I had to rub it  _ chastely _ with chamomile. I felt like fortune’s fool.”

“So you really did just that?” Yennefer asked sceptically, taking the bottle from him and sipping. 

“Of course I did. He was trusting me and I didn’t want to ruin things — nothing sunders trust like an uninvited finger.”

“If it helps to know after all this time, I was half hard after every time I got you to do that,” said Geralt. 

“And I’ll confess that we kept running out of the chamomile so fast not because I applied it too liberally and wastefully to your bottom, as you accused me, but because I was stealing it to masturbate with after you were asleep.”

“Well, that’s just sad,” said Geralt. 

“You’re not telling me anything I don’t know.”

“I suspected about the chamomile anyway, I could smell it on you. I’m sorry, Yen, you don’t want to hear all this.”

“No, I think it’s funny. The two of you spending years lurking around each other furtively yearning.”

“I wasn’t yearning,” said Geralt. “Yet.”

“I was yearning enough for both of us,” said Jaskier. “Have you ever actually yearned for me at all?”

“Of course I have, after we got together and we were apart. I mean, I miss you at those times. Does that count as yearning?”

“Does it make you sigh? Or gaze up at the moon and imagine that I’m looking at it too? Or write love letters you ultimately will not send?”

“I don’t have the paper to waste on love letters and you’ve got no fixed address.”

“See, that’s why you don’t yearn, you’re brutally practical.”

“One of us needs to be,” said Geralt, accepting the bottle from Yennefer and drinking a slightly disproportionate share of the wine. 

“Well,” said Yennefer, turning over and sitting up, “I’ve enjoyed this lull in proceedings but both of you have had enough time to recover and now I want attention. Jaskier, you like fussing over people, you can comb my hair. Comb’s in the drawer.” She unwrapped the towel and shook out her damp hair. 

“I get picked? Well, I’m flattered.” He fetched the comb and reached for her, but Geralt said, “Can I?”

“Be my guest,” Jaskier said. He was quietly amused by how eagerly Geralt had said that. He made room for Geralt to sit behind Yennefer, his legs on either side of her body as she sat neatly cross-legged, and watched how reverently he combed out her hair. Yennefer glanced over at Jaskier and pointedly imitated him, resting her chin on her hand and smiling moony-eyed. He poked his tongue out at her. 

“Don’t wear that out, you might need it later,” she said.

“Trust me, my dear, it is virtually tireless.” 

It was… unusual to sit here on the bed with the two of them, combing Yennefer’s hair and hearing Jaskier flirt with her. It really took Jaskier to feel that he still needed to flirt when they were all already naked and when he had just fucked him right in front of Yennefer. Geralt still couldn’t quite believe that had happened, even though he was still feeling it in the most physical way. After getting fucked that deep and hard he could feel the shape of Jaskier’s cock inside him, at times, for hours afterwards, and the rim of his anus still felt hot and stretched and slick, and it was shameful to feel that with Yen right there, and yet, she  _ liked _ it? She had  _ enjoyed _ seeing him lose all control of himself and stroked him and praised him for being a dirty mess. He could sort of accept that here and now, although it didn’t yet make sense to him; he was  _ grateful _ to Yennefer for still wanting him and not thinking it was weird or disgusting what he needed to feel that good. To both of them, because they both seemed to think everything was all right — he was used to Jaskier being almost excessively accepting, and generally explained it to himself as Jaskier simply loving to believe the best of everything and everyone except Valdo Marx, but he hadn’t looked for this from Yennefer. He’d thought her standards were higher; stricter, anyway. 

He thought of that frantic coupling in the vampires’ cavern today, a place that literally smelled like death, so that it had just seemed depraved to be consumed by desire for her, but she was so wonderful and fierce and they had torn at each other, he had struggled out of his cuirass because he’d wanted no barrier between them while she’d wriggled one leg out of the pants she’d borrowed from Jaskier and called it good enough, and he had sat on the rough floor with her straddling him and riding him and clutching savagely at his shoulders under his shirt as she crested and peaked. Looking  _ up _ at Yennefer always seemed right. Afterwards she had rested her forehead on his and stroked his hair and murmured, “Not bad. I think I’ll let you keep trying to please me” and he had wanted to swear his life to that purpose, at least in the moment before he remembered his other duties.

Now Jaskier was murmuring, “I’ve just realised I’m dying to kiss you; may I?” and she was replying, “Yes, you should,” and their lips met with soft, light kisses that grew deeper and more lingering. He stared, wondering how a normal man would feel about this. The only real conflict he was feeling over it was that he couldn’t watch them together and kiss them both at the same time. He gathered Yennefer’s hair in his hand the way he’d been imagining, swept it to one side and kissed the downy nape of her neck, and felt goosebumps rise briefly under his lips as she shivered with pleasure. 

“I think what I have here,” Yennefer said, “is that Geralt is a very, very good boy and Jaskier is a somewhat naughty boy.”

“You’re a shrewd judge of character,” said Jaskier. 

“And I think I’m going to enjoy both boys trying their hardest to please me. Before we get too entangled, Jask, just a quick rule — nothing anal for me, I don’t like it at all.”

“Understood, I will shun it utterly. As far as I’m concerned, you don’t even have one.”

“You won’t mind that, because you’ll always have Geralt’s arse to churn into a lather of cum and oil.”

Geralt felt a kind of stab of shame exactly matched to the surge of arousal that made his cock stir in his lap while his hole twitched and tingled. 

“Geralt’s pupils just went huge,” said Jaskier. “I think you broke him.” He leant over her shoulder to kiss Geralt. “Hey, would you like it if you were inside Yen and I was inside you from behind?” That gave him another stab/surge that made him gasp. 

“No, I think you’ve broken him,” said Yennefer, turning to look with a little smile. 

“Poor thing, he has no blood left in his brain,” Jaskier said, and kissed him again. “Geralt, my love, is it hard for you to talk when we make you feel like this?”

He managed to nod. 

“That’s adorable. But listen, if things are getting too much for you, if you need a rest, you should… hmm… tap three times, maybe. On the headboard or on my arm or Yen’s or whatever you can reach best, all right? Could you do that?”

“Yes,” Geralt said, his voice feeling thick in his throat. 

“Because I want to tease you a lot, but I don’t want to take it too far.”

“I sort of do,” said Yennefer, and kissed him. “But if I do you might not want to do this again, so I’ll refrain.”

“I love you, little flower,” Jaskier said, kissing him again, and he discovered you could both feel a surge of loving submission for someone and find him pretty annoying. Both of them kissing him was making his head spin. “Do you want to do what I said?”

“Yes.”

“Lie down,” said Yennefer, and pushed his chest. He fell back, wondering what was going to happen to him. 

“Went over like a falling tower,” said Jaskier. 

“Let’s do what we talked about,” said Yennefer. “You suck him hard and I’ll sit on his face.”

“I think I’ll enjoy working with you.” Geralt felt Jaskier kneeling between his legs and then Yennefer filled his view, crawling up over his body and ending with her knees on either side of his head. He gazed up at her and wondered if you could  _ yearn _ like Jaskier had been saying when the person was in front of you. 

“Look, Geralt,” she said, and slipped her fingers between her thighs, parting the black hair to display glistening pink lips. “Do you want to taste that?”

_ “Yes.” _

“Are you going to lick it nicely?”

“Yes, I promise.”

“Are you —“ A long glistening drip of liquid slipped between her fingers and fell hot on his face, and she giggled. “That wasn’t on purpose, but you liked it, didn’t you?”

“Fuck, yes.”

“See what I mean about getting wet when you surrender?” She slid her middle finger into her cunt and slowly stroked in and out; the sound made him groan with desire. 

“I haven’t touched him yet,” said Jaskier, “but he just pricked up.”

“Good boy,” said Yennefer, stroking with two fingers now. She drew them out and held them to Geralt’s lips. “Taste.” He sucked them eagerly, and the smell that had been filling his head became taste and texture too.  _ “Good _ boy. Jask, are you doing anything at all?”

“Staring,” he said promptly. “Wow.”

“Think of poor Geralt,” she said. 

“I am, and what I’m mostly thinking is  _ lucky bastard.” _ Geralt felt Jaskier’s hand on his cock, though, stroking it as it stiffened. “I should have cleaned you up before,” he said. “You’re still sticky.” Then Geralt felt his tongue, soft and wet and drawing up in a long smooth stroke, and he moaned. 

“That’s better,” said Yennefer. “And from me…” She lowered her hips towards his face and paused just out of reach. He raised his head but she pushed it back down with a finger on his forehead. “Wait till I give it to you,” she said. “Good boys wait.”

“Please, Yen.”

“Hmm. Do you love me?”

“Yes! Yes.”

“Do you want me to smother you with it?”

_ “Yes.” _

“Good.” She eased herself down and covered his nose and mouth with her soft wet heat. He closed his eyes the better to focus on how it felt, smelled, tasted as he ran his tongue up and down between her folds. He reached up to hold her thighs and she pushed his hands away. “No, you can’t hold me down.”

“You can play with my hair if you want,” Jaskier said, pausing in the tongue-bath. “Keep those hands busy.” Geralt reached for his head gratefully; he couldn’t have kept them motionless by his sides and he didn’t feel ready to have them bound. He also couldn’t stop making the muffled sounds that welled up in his throat; everything was too much for him, the taste of her, the way her hair tickled his nose, the sound she made when he reached and flicked his tongue against the stiff little bud of her clitoris, her weight on his face and neck, the soft heat of her slim thighs, and the pulling, engulfing pleasure of Jaskier’s mouth on his cock, sucking the head and swirling his tongue under it, and the soft rub of his hands around the shaft and under his balls. His heart was thumping in his chest. She was stroking his hair. Jaskier’s hair was soft under his hands. He spread his legs wider and raised his knees to brace his feet on the bed. 

“I think he’s happy,” said Yennefer. Jaskier hummed agreement. “Before you get close, Geralt,” she went on, “you should know you’re not allowed to come yet. I’ll tell you when you may. Till then, hold on. Good boy. You can do that much. Look at me.” He opened his eyes and looked up to her lovely face, flushed and exultant. “That’s right. Do you like where you are?”

He made an urgent little sound of assent. 

“It’s where you belong, isn’t it? Where you’re happiest? And I’m so happy to put you in your place.” She combed her fingers into his hair and held it firmly, not pulling yet but letting him feel that she was ready to. “And you’re making  _ very _ good use of your tongue. I truly didn’t expect when I met you you’d be capable of this —“ She caught her breath briefly. “Delicacy,” she finished with a sigh. “Didn’t you think so, Jaskier? That he looks like he’d just hammer at you?”

Jaskier lifted his mouth off Geralt’s cock with a soft wet smack of suction. “I wanted him to, though,” he said. “I was a very crude and callow youth and I thought he was a lovely bit of rough. I wonder what I did with that oil. Oh — with the wine.” Geralt felt him moving and reaching beside the bed, and as he returned he paused to look over Yennefer’s thigh to see him. “Hello, beautiful,” he said. “Aren’t his eyes wonderful? Nothing melts me like that look.”

“What’s the oil for?” Yennefer asked as he disappeared from Geralt’s view. 

“I want to finger him, and he’s  _ probably  _ still soft and slippery enough from last time, but a little extra never hurts.”

“Aren’t you a lucky boy?” Yennefer asked him. “Jaskier still wants to finger you even with all that cum in there.”

“Well,” said Jaskier with a soft chuckle, “since it’s my cum I’m hardly likely to object.” He settled down between Geralt’s legs and resumed sucking him, his mouth gliding up and down smoothly. This and the way Yennefer had begun rocking her hips seemed like they might finish him.  _ No. No, I’m not going to, I’m going to please her, I’m going to make him proud. Deep breaths.  _ Taking deep breaths meant the smell of Yen’s skin and hair and hot wet cunt drove deeper into his head and filled his lungs and fizzed through his blood. He groaned and pressed his backside down into the mattress, trying to draw back from Jaskier’s mouth, but it just followed him down. 

“Don’t know if you can hear him,” Yennefer said, “but he’s whimpering.”

Jaskier’s mouth lifted and Geralt sagged with relief.  _ “Geralt _ is whimpering? My gosh.” He touched Geralt’s hand, clutching the sheets with white knuckles. “Are you okay, my lovely? Remember, tap three times if it’s too much. We’ll give you a little rest.”

“Will we?” asked Yennefer, still happily hitching her mound against his mouth.

“Yes, we will, you merciless strumpet,” said Jaskier. “Geralt? If it’s okay to keep going, open your hand.” He laughed sweetly when Geralt splayed his fingers as wide as he could. “I won’t worry, then.” A moment later Geralt felt a touch between his buttocks, a fingertip beckoning up and down, then pressing in on his anus, which leaked copiously. His hips jerked and he had to grab the sheets again. “Surprising how much was still in here,” said Jaskier, sounding rather impressed. He slid two fingers in, to almost no resistance, and undulated them in and out. Geralt groaned desperately as the pleasure spiked up inside him. 

“Oh, he’s frantic,” said Yennefer.

“As he should be,” said Jaskier. “What colour’s his face?”

“Crimson.”

“And  _ here _ is the sweet spot,” said Jaskier, reaching Geralt’s prostate and gently diddling it. Geralt moaned, arching his back, and felt another hot leak from the tip of his cock. “Did you know,” Jaskier said, calmly and cheerfully as if he weren’t subjecting him to a kind of ecstatic torment, “over the winter I managed to get him to come just like this, without so much as a breath on his cock? It took three quarters of an hour and my wrist was  _ so _ sore by the end, but the sense of achievement was tremendous. And I’ve honestly never seen that much precum. Like a lake on his belly. We only did it the once, because talk about exhausting, but I was so proud of my darling. He was so patient, even when he had to lie on his hands. He trusted me that it would be worth it… just as he’s trusting that it’ll be worth it now. Oh, look at that  _ stream. _ You’re in a  _ state,  _ aren’t you, my lovely?”

_ “Hmmgghhh.” _ He couldn’t lie still. Trying to diffuse the tension he felt made him squirm, his heels sliding on the mattress and pulling fitfully back up, one after the other. He could hear Yennefer laughing, a little breathless husky giggle, as her lips slid on his, slick and puffy. 

“Oh, this is  _ mean,” _ she said delightedly. 

“It’s not mean at all,” said Jaskier. “It’s just more niceness than he knows what to do with. You should feel how his hole’s twitching. So hot and snug. Oh… I want to be in there again. I think it might be time.”

“Hmmm…” Yennefer gazed down at his face appraisingly. She reached back, brushed her hand across his chest, found and pinched his nipple. He grunted and his hips kicked. “I think so.”

She lifted up and off him, and even as he couldn’t wait for what would come next he didn’t want her weight and heat and wetness on his face to be gone. He sucked air, and a moment later felt Jaskier kiss him and lick his lips. 

“Delicious,” Jaskier sighed. “Yen, love, how do you want to do this? On your back?”

“Too much weight with the pair of you.” She lay down and rolled onto her side facing Geralt, and draped one leg across him at hip height. “Come here, Geralt.” He rolled towards her and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her to his chest and kissing her, knowing his mouth was sloppy. “Now,” Yennefer breathed against his lips, “remember, still not allowed to come. You hold it back.” 

“I don’t like his chances,” said Jaskier, stroking his back. “Ten to one he paints the walls before he’s all the way in.”

“I thought you believed he could do anything.”

“Oh, he can do ten to one. Geralt, love, I’m just going to put my fingers back inside you. That’s nice, isn’t it?”

“And now I’ll let you inside me,” murmured Yennefer. She held his cock and guided it to brush against her lips; he had to clench his buttocks to stop himself shoving it forward, which meant he felt the pressure of Jaskier’s fingers more intensely; he almost wanted to laugh at how every attempt to retreat from overstimulation on one side drove him into the other harder. He was panting desperately as Yennefer’s soft, wet heat slowly enveloped him. “Oh,  _ good,” _ she sighed. “There we are. All the way in. Your whole big, fat cock. Do you think you can move, or are you just going to come like a fifteen-year-old virgin?”

He kissed her and made his best effort at a steady, rocking thrust. It was always a little awkward lying on one side, maybe that would help him. He didn’t think he had a hope in hell of lasting long enough to give her an orgasm, but at the very least he could not totally disgrace himself. She gave little purring murmurs and mercifully refrained from squeezing him. He’d found a manageable rhythm, and sweet pink pleasure was blossoming in a way that felt closer to his control. It might be all right. 

“Good boy,” Jaskier sighed. “Do you think you can cope with this too?” Geralt felt the head of Jaskier’s cock slide between his buttocks with a sense of helplessness. It stretched and opened his anus and bore smoothly in and this pleasure was burning red and swelling. It bumped his prostate on the way in and lights flashed in his head while a jolt went up his spine. Jaskier was all the way inside him and he hadn’t come  _ yet  _ but he couldn’t move, could only lie there shivering and gasping. “ _ Such _ a good, patient boy. He hasn’t come yet, has he, Yen?”

“No, but I think he’s on the edge of it every second.”

“Is he allowed yet?”

“No.”

“Fuck me — please, Yen!” Geralt burst out. 

“Well,  _ I  _ say you can,” said Jaskier, and kissed the nape of his neck, “but hers is the deciding vote.”

_ “Please,”  _ Geralt begged her. She gazed into his flushed, sweating face and delicately brushed back a strand of hair. 

“You’ve waited patiently and obediently. You’ve kept trying to please me no matter how… distracted you were. Ssssooooo…” She drew it out, tracing her forefinger down from his temple and over his cheekbone, brushing the bruise. He bit his lip and waited, trembling. “Yes — oh!” She gave a startled cry that was half a laugh as he plunged in joyfully. There was no more restraint, Jaskier was rutting into him from behind too, and he expected to come almost instantly. He had a surprisingly long time to enjoy it, at least a minute, which would normally be pitiful but in the circumstances felt glorious. Then he came so hard and so helplessly he was aware of nothing else and had no idea how long he was in that state. He felt drunk. Everything else receded and he was floating in a warm dark that loved him. 

Later on when he thought about it, it seemed that this couldn’t have been anything like as long as it felt. He was also vaguely aware that Yennefer was stroking his hair and Jaskier had pulled out to finish with his hand. He wanted to tell him he didn’t need to do that, that it was fine to go on fucking him as much as he wanted, but there was no way he could find the words. He just felt the spurt when Jaskier came against his back with a faint fading ripple of pleasurable shame. 

Then they were both holding him, and stroking him, and quietly telling him how good he’d been, and he wanted to bask in that feeling forever. 

“Don’t go to sleep yet, my lovely,” Jaskier said. “You’ve more than earned it but I just want to make sure you’re all right. How do you feel?”

He made a vague humming sound. 

“Oh, just let him sleep,” said Yennefer indulgently. “He’s exhausted. There’s nothing left inside him after flooding me like that.”

“Even so,” said Jaskier. 

Geralt made an effort and opened his eyes. “Are you all right?” he asked Yennefer. “I didn’t have much control at the end. Hope I didn’t hurt you.”

“Perfectly fine,” she murmured. “You’ve just made a huge creamy mess.” He could feel it between them now he thought about it, warm, wet and rather squishy. 

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not scolding you.”

“I can clean it up,” he offered, although in fact he wasn’t sure he could move. 

“No you won’t,” said Jaskier. “You’re going to relax. And since I’m fairly sure Yen didn’t get to come yet, and I’m probably the least tired, I’ll gladly take care of it.”

“Purely because you’re so nice,” said Yennefer. 

“That, and I’m feeling perverted and licking Geralt’s load out of you then getting you off is really appealing to me.” He clambered over Geralt, gave him a kiss and said, “Although I bet you want to stay in there forever, time to pull out.”

Geralt kissed Yennefer once more and reluctantly rolled onto his back. His cock slipped free, soft and limp now, much like the rest of him felt. 

“Well, that just looks obscene,” said Jaskier. “Very lovely too, but quite astonishingly obscene. Well done both.” He settled down between her thighs and gave her a cheeky yet affectionate smile. “May I?”

“Go on,” she said contentedly. As he moved down to kiss her, she turned to stroke Geralt’s cheek again and he rolled back towards her, wrapping an arm around her, his head on the pillow beside hers. “You’re clingy,” she said, but slipped her arm under his neck and stroked his hair. “You can rest now. You’ve been so very good. Everyone is pleased with you. And if you didn’t do everything quite perfectly, well, it was your first try and I know you’ll try every time to do better. We’ll give you  _ lots _ of chances.”

“Thank you,” he breathed. He fell into an exhausted sleep, hearing her sighing and moaning for Jaskier. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can always detect the pointless thing that's clearly only included because it's a thing the writer learned once and has no use for but thinks is interesting. The "Georg of the Greenwood" thing? a) lol watch out for that tree, b) did you know that there were completely separate Robin Hood and Sheriff of Nottingham stories/ballads before some unsung genius did the most ambitious crossover event in mediaeval history and set them against each other? Isn't that just absolutely buck wild? It's like hearing the Joker had a completely separate comic book series before someone said "Hey, this would be a good guy to fight Batman." They seem so inextricably linked, two sides to the same coin, and yet!  
> So anyway I thought I'd let Jaskier be the equivalent of that unsung genius.   
> (Did you know Robin Hood doesn't even live in Sherwood Forest in a lot of the early stories? He lives in a place called Barnsdale in Yorkshire. There's a surviving record of a court case from 1429 where a judge quotes "Robin Hood in Barnsdale stood" as an opening line absolutely everyone knows, like "Once upon a time" or "A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away" or "Then everything changed when the Fire Nation attacked.")


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Geralt has a sort of emotional hangover.

The soundproof spell on the tent afforded privacy but meant that when you woke up you could hear nothing outside to give you a clue as to what time it might be. The habits of an extended lifetime meant it was almost certain to be sometime before dawn, but Geralt couldn’t be sure. 

He didn’t want to move. The bed was warm and soft. The others must have pulled the covers up over him after he fell asleep. The first time they had all slept together he had been in the middle but this time it was Yennefer; Jaskier was snuggled in on her other side with his head almost tucked under her arm, curved above her head across the pillows. He lay watching them, sleeping deeply, softly breathing, and tried to sort through the jumble of emotions in his mind. There were all sorts of sweet, good, obviously naïve thoughts in there, like _I want to protect them both forever_ and _They’ve seen more than I ever thought I should show them and here they still are, loving me._ There were more painful thoughts like _I can’t lose them — it’s a miracle they’re here at all and who else could ever know me and love me like this?_ and _There’s still so much they don’t know and I don’t know what will finally be too much for them._ There were not so much thoughts as growls and purrs from the animal part at the bottom of his mind, all _Felt good_ and _All mine_ and _Safe here._ There was still a lot of shame and disgust at himself for wanting and loving to be treated the way he was last night, like a pet or a kind of living toy, mixing up sex and manhood with childishness, being controlled and led and meekly taking it, whimpering and whining for praise. There was the deep, greedy enjoyment of all that praise and pleasure and the deliberate, persistent overwhelming of his senses. There was heart-aching gratitude to the others. 

There was, sneaking in and bringing with it a cold, heavy sense of reproach, the question of whether Ciri was all right by herself while he was indulging in his perversions. Jaskier would talk cheerfully about being perverted because to him it meant having naughty fun, not something seriously wrong with his character that made him unfit to be responsible for a child. Surely a father shouldn’t do or want to do anything that would be utterly baffling and repulsive to his child if she knew. Then the other two apparently thought it was fine to leave Ciri to sleep alone, even here in a town, as long as they had that silver alarm bell Yen had enchanted — but what if that wouldn’t wake them, especially in a sleep as deep as he’d just had? What if someone or something burst into the caravan and did its worst while he was tumbling out of bed? Were they careless or was he worrying needlessly?

He couldn’t give Ciri a safe home, the kind she deserved, with walls and locks and privacy, and follow the path he’d been put on as a child and followed dutifully ever since, the duty that if he neglected defenceless people would suffer and die. He couldn’t choose another path, even if he could remotely justify it morally, because what else was he fit for? He couldn’t be a good father who put his daughter’s interests first and carry on doing weird degenerate things sexually (for which he blamed no one but himself, it wasn’t degenerate or weird that Yennefer or Jaskier liked to do these things to him, only that he liked to receive them). He couldn’t talk about these things to anyone else because no one knew what it was like — his brothers knew about the path and the duty but none of them had entangled themselves in sex beyond quick, functional encounters not that different from ablutions, much less in love or family, and what he was feeling right now was presumably exactly why not. 

He’d woken up so calm and happy next to two beautiful people who he loved, and with a few minutes’ thought he was feeling like scum. 

There was only one thing he could do to feel better right now and that was to check on Ciri. He couldn’t just go and do that because he stank of sweat and cum and just bringing the _smell_ near her felt like he was abusing her. He eased himself away from Yennefer, who slept on, rolling just slightly towards Jaskier. Now they looked like a couple. If they could love each other and he could leave them together, take himself and Ciri away and try to concentrate on just two of the things pulling him in different directions, they would be better off — except that Jaskier loved Ciri and she loved him and Yennefer could be the mother she surely needed so he would be tearing up a family and hurting everyone. Besides that, he wasn’t kidding himself that Yen and Jaskier would even be friends if they weren’t trying for his sake. She thought he was a twit and he thought she was a bitch. They _were_ a twit and a bitch, at their worst, but that wasn’t the point; at his worst he was a heartless brute. Or possibly that wasn’t the worst, maybe a mewling pervert was a lower point. 

He got off the bed as silently as he could. It was hard to be stealthy when you were as large and heavy as he was, and sometimes it meant moving so slowly it was almost painful. He padded across the floor and decided after some hesitation that getting into the bath altogether, slowly, would probably be quieter than trying to scoop water or use a cloth to wash himself out of it. He sank in and submerged his head. He washed his face with soap until it felt tight, and rubbed the soap under his arms, over his inner thighs, his cock and balls, between his buttocks, which felt both sore and still _good_ in a way that disturbed and further shamed him. He’d always thought Jaskier was overly fastidious about washing before and after sex but at the moment he wished he could boil himself. _That’s excessive. I’m being hysterical. It’s the last thing I should do, it comes from the same root as the perversion. As soon as I’ve made sure Ciri is safe, I’ll meditate and clear my head completely._

For a wonder, the two sleepers didn’t wake, even when he slipped slightly getting out of the bath and made a small splash. He dried himself and crept around finding and putting on his clothes, then slipped out of the door without looking back. It was still very dark — he’d woken early even for him.

He let himself into the caravan — putting a lock on the door had been one of the first things he’d done after buying it, while Jaskier and Ciri were exclaiming over how tidy and compact and handy everything was — and felt tremendous, knee-weakening relief when he was inside and could hear, without a doubt, Ciri’s slow, deep breathing. She lay on her upper bunk with the golden plait Yennefer had done for her before bed trailing off the side. One arm was hanging out of bed, a little sunburnt and scratched, and around her wrist she was wearing a kind of bracelet of three thin braided ribbons. He hadn’t noticed that before. When Yen had brought her home from the inn he had just finished washing and changing after the hunt and was looking forward to going to collect Jaskier; he hadn’t talked with her long before going to do that, so he only knew she had been playing with two other girls she’d met that day. Were the ribbons a present from them? He didn’t know and he ought to. Ciri needed friends, he _wanted_ her to have friends, but they had to be safe friends. In the morning he would make her breakfast and ask her about it properly. He would count out the teeth and tell her about the hunt (excluding the dirty part), and bring her with him to the alderman to exchange teeth for bounty. He’d get her some kind of treat when they had the money — ribbons, if she liked ribbons now, maybe to give to her friends in exchange. He would remember that the most important thing he was or could be was her father, and somehow he’d make himself stick to that. 

He lay down on his and Jaskier’s bed to wait for morning and was immediately assailed by the smell of Jaskier’s skin and hair and his utterly unnecessary cologne when he smelled the way he did naturally. It made everything worse, appropriately for Jaskier. 

What was he doing? He’d already decided what he would do. Meditation. Once he felt the hard floor under his knees and emptied his mind things began to feel better. 

The silver bell rang and both Yennefer and Jaskier were startled awake by it. 

“Whs?” Jaskier asked, sitting up and looking around. 

“Ger… oh. Geralt’s not here,” Yennefer said, patting the large dent in the featherbed beside her. 

“Oh,” said Jaskier, sliding back down. “He must just have gone to check on her. ‘sallright.”

“Good,” said Yennefer, rubbing her eyes blearily. 

Jaskier stretched and relaxed. “What did we get up to last night, eh?” he asked with a gleeful smile. “We’re wicked, you and I. We ravished that man.”

She laughed. “I think he’ll be all right.”

“Of course he will,” said Jaskier. He rolled over and kissed her. “Thank you. That’s the kind of thing I think we’ve both been fantasising about but you gave us the boost to _do_ it. And it was _so_ hot — and at the same time didn’t it just feel so loving and _nice?_ Downright wholesome for face-sitting and buggery.” He followed with another kiss, warm and deep. 

“Have you decided you’re in love with me after all now?” she asked, stroking his cheek. 

“Oh gosh, no. Definitely not in love. More than liking, though. Do you know what it is? I’m in cahoots with you. Deeply and madly in cahoots.”

“Cahoots,” she repeated with a smile. “Much better.”

“Isn’t it, though?”

“You just _act_ exactly as if you’re in love with me, but without all the burdensome parts.”

“I would never call a woman I was in love with a weasel, Queen Weasel.” He kissed her one last time and subsided beside her. “Well, emotionally I’m walking on sunshine, physically I’m knackered. After just two nights in a row of terrific sex — I’m sadly out of condition.”

“I’m pretty stuffed too,” Yennefer said. “Even after a good sleep.”

“The ageless body isn’t tireless, then?”

“Sadly not. Geralt’s the one who got the extra stamina deal. I just have the advantage of not getting big shadows under my eyes.”

“Wasn’t he wonderful,” said Jaskier dreamily. “Just absolutely gorgeous and beautiful.”

“It’s funny to me that you talk so much about how beautiful he is. I know it’s the eye of the beholder, I’ve just always found Geralt quite ugly — only in a fascinating, attractive way.”

“You what?” Jaskier asked, honestly a little shocked. “Have you _seen_ his cheekbones? His jawline? His _chest?”_

“I’m not criticising any of those things. They’re great. But he has eyes the colour of piss and altogether too many teeth.”

“His eyes are golden! Or amber! They’re like the sun, not like piss. I can’t believe you,” he said, half laughing and half indignant.

“You do understand none of that makes me want him less and might actually make me want him more?” she asked. 

“I accept your word for it but I don’t remotely understand it. So am I attractively ugly too?”

“No. I told you before, you’re a pretty little thing.”

“You’re still going to call me a little thing now?” He flapped the sheet up to flash her. 

“Gross.”

“No it’s not, I washed it before we went to sleep. Remember?”

“Oh, yes. Things were fairly hazy by then.”

“You’re welcome. I don’t really like going to sleep without cleaning up, but I’ll do it sometimes for Geralt. He just likes to stay together and cuddle after we fuck and not have any interruptions or separations. But since he was all cuddled up to you, he didn’t miss anything.”

“He’s _really_ needy after sex, isn’t he?” she asked, sounding surprised after the fact. 

“You didn’t know?”

“When it’s been just him and me, I think he’s held back from that a little bit. As if he wants to worship me but then... not to _bother_ me. You relax him more.”

“So what does he do? Just lie beside you?” It didn’t sound like Geralt at all.

“Yes. He gives me a bit of space, actually. Close but not touching. Watching me.”

“Okay, he’s literally begged me — well, not _begged_ begged but asked emphatically — to just stay inside him or let him stay inside me while we fall asleep. If we’re not actually stuck together like that he’s definitely spooning me. Over the winter I gained a bit of weight and he’d lie there playing with my tummy where it had got soft. Then the same thing started happening to him and apparently this was totally baffling, because according to him since he reached, like, his full growth he’s sometimes lost a bit of weight because he wasn’t getting enough to eat but then got back up to normal, but he’d never really _gained_ any more weight than that, and I had to gently point out that we’d never spent a winter together before, we’d never spent this long together at all before, and people tend to put on a bit of weight when they’re comfortable and happy and settled. He was so embarrassed, though, like it was something _unseemly_ when it happened to him, even though he thought it was cute and cuddly on me. Am I babbling? I think I’m babbling.”

“You’re absolutely babbling.”

“Babsolutely. Sorry, I just — I want to talk about him _so much._ I have a few friends, people he doesn’t know, who I’ve told a bit about him, nothing identifying, but then they don’t know _him_ and it’s not the same. And over the winter his brothers would tell me stories about him growing up, and some of it was endearing and nice, and some of it was just oh my god how fucked up was your childhood that you think that’s a funny story, extremely, it was extremely fucked up but I can’t tell you that because I’m a guest and it would be super rude and you’re all Very Large and I don’t want to offend you, but oh my gods Yen it’s _fucked_ , and I could tell them _some_ stories about him but he would have been embarrassed to death if I’d gotten into stuff like that so I didn’t. But you _get it._ I’m sorry for the word vomit. Thank you. And sorry.”

 _“Please_ don’t call it word vomit.” Yennefer propped herself up on her elbows and looked at him sharply. “You know, Jaskier, I spent thirty-something years at various royal courts, and so I learned to be a good listener. Not because I _cared,_ most of the time, but because men will talk, and talk, and _talk_ if a good-looking woman acts like it’s interesting. You hardly even have to ask questions. When you do ask questions, if you drop just the right ones, you can find out what you need to know and they may not even remember they’ve told you, because in their minds you’re just this perfect receptive _vessel_ and the idea you would _do_ anything with what they’ve told you never occurs to them, not until it’s far too late. And I started out letting you talk to me, to the truly _excessive_ extent that you always want to talk, because I was seeing you as a rival and a problem and I knew if I let you, you’d give me what I needed to see you off, or at least to feel sure that I was better than you and Geralt would never care about you as much as he did about me.”

“Oh,” he said, flummoxed and rather hurt. “Well —”

“I haven’t finished, don’t interrupt.” She paused, holding up one index finger as if to hold her place. “The fatal flaw in my plan was that after you talked at me an incredible amount I realised that despite being self-obsessed only a little bit less than you’re obsessed with Geralt, you’re funny and nice and I like you and don’t want to ruin your life.”

“Uh —”

“Not finished. Where was I — yes. I don’t usually _like_ nice people, they get on my nerves or I pity them. I like Geralt because he’s not _nice_ but he’s _good._ I am neither good nor nice. I don’t know if you’re good or not and I don’t mind. We’re in cahoots so that doesn’t matter. If you want to talk to me, talk to me. I may get bored or say something rude back, but I just want you to know that I would actually _like_ you to talk to me, because you’re you and I enjoy you more often than not. But don’t ever call it word vomit again because that was disgusting, and it spoiled the fact that you were actually being quite cute just before that, and I had just been thinking it might be nice to have sex before we have to get up, but that bird has flown.”

“Come back, bird,” he said earnestly. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Nope, you’ve blown it.”

“Come on. I know you had a good time last night. You squirted on my nose.”

She started to laugh, a silent helpless laugh that made her nose scrunch and her breasts shake and bounce, and flopped down on her back. “Are there people in the world who think you’re suave? Seriously?”

“I’m not trying to be suave. There’s no point with you. Come on, Yen, you know it’ll feel so nice, and it’ll get the blood circulating and help us wake up all invigorated and stuff.” He leaned over her and kissed her, stroking her cheeks and trailing his fingers into her hair. She responded with a soft kiss, stroking the back of his neck. 

“Didn’t you claim to be tired of sex?”

“Tired _from_ sex, never tired _of_ sex. Unless you still feel like it’s not fair without Geralt?”

“No, I think it’s fair enough.” She was looking at him lazily and appraisingly, perhaps deciding if he was worth getting sweaty for again. 

“What if I told you another nice story about him? Though that would mean I couldn’t use my mouth to get you ready, just my hands.”

“Depends on the story, but I’d let you try.”

“Thank you, dear queasel. Any requests?” He lay down comfortably beside her with his hand resting lightly on her tummy, ready to go up or down depending on encouragement. 

“I still really wonder how on earth you got together.”

“Mmm… I think I’d need to get his express permission to tell you that one, because he wasn’t best pleased that I let slip about the dick. Even if he’s got over the whole ‘Yen mustn’t know I take it up the arse’ nonsense, it’s still something he was embarrassed about at the time and he might still be.” Still, he began stroking up and down, because he had leave to try. 

“I currently imagine he got drunk and made a maudlin declaration of love before falling on your dick.”

“You’re not even close. Stone cold sober, didn’t say anything about loving me until a few weeks later and then it was a bloody litotes, and it was a very deliberate fuck with plenty of warm-up.” 

“What the hell’s a litotes?” She took his hand and guided it to her breast to play with her nipple. 

“When you poetically say something in an understated or backhanded way using a double negative. Like, you’re not unattractive, Yen. I set us up for it. He was being a bit irritating and cocky telling me he knew I loved him, basically, and that was why he was so happy with me and the sex was so good, and I sort of challenged him to say it back, and semi-sarcastically suggested he might say something like ‘You are not unloved.’” He paused to kiss her nipple and brush his tongue against it. “And he hugged the wind out of me and said I was the least unloved person he knew. Which absolutely melted my heart. That was such a wonderful time. It was spring, everything was new, the weather was lovely, I finally got to touch him and kiss him as much as I wanted… you know I was the first man he ever slept with, right? So he did various firsts with me, and that was thrilling. He did get a bit grumpy when I called him a virgin, but he was! That’s why it was so exciting — I mean, imagine finding out someone you’ve known and pined for for _years_ is still a virgin and you get to show them how good sex feels. And on the other hand he _wasn’t_ a virgin at all, so he had some confidence and some good moves already. Talk about the best of both worlds.” 

As he talked, he kept stroking her skin, looking for sensitive places to gently rub or skim his nails over, pausing from time to time to kiss her mouth or her neck. From everything he’d seen so far, Yennefer was someone who liked to have a lot done for her in bed, which suited him quite nicely; he liked to be an attentive, ardent giver of comfort and delight and show he was different from the alarming number of men who really didn’t know their way around a lady and possessed neither charm nor finesse. _Your husband doesn’t seem to care if it feels nice for you? Let Jaskier make it better. No one’s explained to you what this is for? Let Jaskier show you, and you’ll be self-sufficient when I have, alas, to go. No one seems to have the energy or patience to get you to a climax? Challenge accepted._ It nearly always worked and he learned something new from each of them so that it worked better over time, and quite a bit of his self-esteem was founded on it. 

Yennefer didn’t have any of those problems that he was aware of but it was still a treat to get to discover what worked for her. A treat to be with a woman again, too, because as much as he loved and adored and wanted Geralt he wasn’t remotely the same and before Yen arrived it had been, what, nearly six months of just him? That was a pretty lavish and wonderful _just_ for which he was very grateful, but there was no sense in pretending he was something he wasn’t, like remotely monogamous. 

“Your Geralt’s so different from mine,” Yennefer said, a bit wistfully. She reached for his hand on her hip and guided it down to her thigh. 

“Isn’t that natural? Your Jaskier (should you wish to so consider me) is pretty different from Geralt’s. I bet his Yen’s different from mine (should you wish to be so considered).”

“Oh?”

“Yes, you know,” he said, skimming his fingertips up the silky inner thigh, “he has a mysterious and beautiful enchantress and I’ve got a stroppy queasel.”

“I’m stroppy with him too, you know. You’re not special.” She caught her breath as his fingers brushed her lips. 

“Well, if he’s the good boy and I’m the naughty one, isn’t that a bit special?”

“I only used those words because he was clearly getting off on it — and you.”

“Yes, yes I was.” He slipped a finger between the folds and exclaimed, “My gosh, you’re wet! Feels wonderful. I’m impressed he didn’t drown.” She lifted her head to kiss him and pulled him down with her hands in his hair, and for a little while he did nothing else apart from a slow rub up and down while enjoying her lips and tongue. His cock was beginning to throb impatiently but it seemed especially important not to rush, since this was a kind of first, a first fuck alone together, anyway, hopefully first time he’d be inside her. _I wonder if I’ll fall in love with her then._ “Yen?” he breathed. “I was thinking.”

“No you weren’t. Here, like this.” She took his hand and guided his fingers. “Can you make tiny soft circles?”

“The tiniest and softest.”

“Ooh…” She closed her eyes, nibbling at her lower lip, her thighs sliding further apart. 

“But I really was thinking.”

“Thinking gives you wrinkles, don’t risk it.”

“I was _thinking,_ last night we had such a good time with the naughty boy helping tease the good boy. What if another time, maybe the good boy helped, um, discipline the naughty boy?”

She gave a small, soft laugh. “I’m not going to smack your bottom, Jaskier.”

“No, but he could.” He tried wiggling his finger quickly and she huffed in surprise and pleasure. 

“Just ask him to spank you.”

“He’ll do it harder if he thinks it’s your idea.”

“Isn’t your backside covered in bruises already? You’re such a masochist.”

“I’m not a masochist, I’m just horny and a little bit dumb. How’s this?”

“Good, but — I’m sorry, no, if you genuinely got off on having your neck bitten like that, you’re a masochist.”

“Well — not full time, anyway. But you _saw_ how hot it is when he manhandles me and gives me strict little orders. And I just want, you know… to be kind of cheeky and defiant and get thrown over his lap and spanked and fucked into submission. All right, I can hear it now.”

“Mmm… I’ll think about it. Depending on how you do now.” She reached to find and stroke his cock in a slow wringing motion, drawing a thick bead of precum out of the tip. 

“You want to be on top, right?” he asked when his voice came back.

“Normally yes, but I feel lazy. I’ll start here.” She watched him as he shifted over to cover her, a languid gaze under heavy dark lashes and a tiny anticipatory smile at the corners of her lips.

“You really are,” he started to say, and then felt how pointless and trite it was to tell someone like her that she was beautiful, and finished up, “not at all unattractive.” She laughed and pulled him in. 

He hadn’t seriously fallen for her vagina dentata joke but he had wondered just a bit if she would feel in any way _unusual._ She just felt deep and snug and lusciously wet, and she wrapped her legs around his hips and he kissed her joyfully as they began to roll together. It was honestly a surprise that sex with Yennefer felt not exciting and dangerous but _comfortable,_ a bit like it felt with one of the old friends with whom he’d drift back together every few years — how _was_ the Contessa these days? what was her current husband count? — where all the thrill of pursuit and discovery was long over but what was left was warm familiarity and the kind of _peaceful_ love that you could slip back into at any time. Maybe that just meant he was foolish, and he’d definitely stuck his dick in dangerous places because someone was beautiful. Right now it was in a very very nice place, gliding in slick heat and getting rhythmically squeezed so that if a squeeze came together with a backward stroke it felt like suction, and he loved that so he concentrated on adjusting his pace to match. It meant going slower than he wanted to but that was probably better for Yen, and how clever of her to guide him wordlessly like that. He wondered if he was sliding in traces of Geralt’s cum and lost his stroke completely because _hot._

“You just got harder, but you feel like you’re having trouble,” Yennefer murmured. “Now I’m wondering if you’ve really done this as much as you brag about.”

“I thought of Geralt, and if there’s still some of him in here with me. My heart went pitter-pat, can you blame me?” He kissed her and moved in her again, deciding he was definitely going to _imagine_ there was _lots_ of Geralt’s cum surrounding his cock and squishing around it — there couldn’t be by now, especially after the deep tongue-bath he had given her last night, but he could imagine whatever he wanted. That had been so _fucking_ hot, tasting her and Geralt mixed together, and whether it was because he’d had to wait and got so desperate or some other reason, Geralt had produced a truly epic load so that twice when he thought he’d got it all, Yennefer had moved a little and more had flowed onto his tongue. Everything had been so wet and messy and just _excessive_ and he had loved it. And Yennefer had laid there cuddling Geralt, who was practically passed out, poor lamb, and gave him very confident and firm directions on where and how to lick and suck and, towards the end, probe and rub with two fingers to get her off. Definitely one of the best things about older women, the confidence and self-knowledge. This felt _good,_ the rhythmic tightening, just a little bit faster now maybe, she knew just what she was doing, and then she reminded him of how very _not_ nice she was by gripping his bum with both hands and squeezing his bruises. “Ow ow ow!”

“Diddums, does it hurt?” she asked, and squeezed him inside and out. 

“You _know_ it does,” he sputtered, still thrusting.

“But you like getting hurt, right? Or only when Daddy does it?”

He almost came, and had to stop moving, bracing his arms and legs rigidly while she kept playing with his sore buttocks and smiling up at him mockingly. 

“Answer the question,” she said.

“I will. I — oh fuck. Yen, if I pop off too soon I’m _really_ sorry but you’re _doing stuff_ to me. How’d you know I want to call him Daddy?”

“Because it’s such an obvious kinky cliché,” she said. “Oh, _Daddy,_ I’ve been _naughty, please_ don’t punish me with your big dick.”

A helpless little laugh sputtered out between his lips. “Okay, yes, I’m a cliché.”

“Who loves big strong _older_ men. Do they actually remind you of your dad or are you looking for a _better_ daddy who makes you feel all loved and small and warm?” 

“Probably the latter?” He hadn’t volunteered for having his psyche probed quite this hard so early in the morning, especially not with an erection this hard and sensitive.

“Why don’t you do it? Just call him Daddy next time he’s fucking you.”

“I think he’ll think it’s really weird and gross. He can be a bit literal. Or he’ll start worrying that my father actually buggered me when I was little or something so I think that’s what love feels like.”

“Of course he didn’t. You were lucky if he patted you on the head, weren’t you?”

“Yen, that’s actually a bit cruel.”

“I know,” she said, and pinched a bruise. He yelped. 

“I can’t believe I was just thinking what nice, friendly, comfy sex we were having.”

“It _was_ nice, but I get so _bored_ with nice. And you know I really do like you, don’t you? But I also want to hurt you and see tears in those big pretty eyes. So there’s a _tension.”_ Her cunt tightened up around him and held for a moment, so tight it would have been a struggle to pull out of it, before relaxing. 

“Holy shit,” Jaskier said faintly. 

“You see, I’m _not_ nice like you, I don’t want to arrange words and signals for when it’s too much, I don’t want to check up on you and offer you a rest, I want to surprise you and hurt you and make it _far_ too much.” She sighed. “I’m just telling you the truth about me. I can be a real, true, not-playing bitch.”

“Not telling me till I was balls deep in your _incredible_ cunt was really unsporting.” He tried to get his mind together. “So why were you scolding us for not having a plan, about my bites and everything?”

“Because you were both such _dummies_ about it.” She clicked her tongue impatiently. “I’m not going to _do_ it.”

“You sort of already have and are. You definitely surprised me and hurt me.”

“Oh. You’re right,” she admitted, and had the decency to look a bit ashamed. 

“But I was really enjoying it before. Talking about Geralt as Daddy, I mean. What if we go back there?”

“Can I still play with your arse?”

“Yes, that is a very popular choice.” He put his head down on the pillow by her shoulder and took some deep, slow breaths. He was still too horny to be genuinely upset, he thought. And she had stopped short of whatever the hell she wanted to do to put tears in his eyes. This was lightly fucked up, but he wanted to come. She was rubbing his cheeks more gently, so they still hurt but not as sharply. He felt his heartbeat in the bruises, the marks of Geralt’s big hands and strong fingers, and pretended he could still feel their grip. “Do I just like it when Daddy hurts me, was that what you asked?”

“That’s right.”

“I like it, yes. I like feeling how strong he is and how much more he _could_ hurt me, but I always feel safe. Because it’s him.”

“Has he ever made you cry?”

“Not like that. But what if he did? Say, if I was being a cheeky little brat, and he spanked me so hard I was crying? Would you want to see that?” Her hips moved against his and he felt a pull. 

“Roll over,” said Yennefer, and she rolled with him till he was on his back and she could sit up, proud and straight, breathing fast with a sheen of sweat on her skin. “Keep talking.”

“Uh, I —” It was going to be a pretty damn bitter irony if he of all people couldn’t keep talking. She was riding him so hard and fast it made his voice wobble. “I — I’d be crying, sobbing, ‘Sorry, Daddy,’ and he wouldn’t stop till I was cherry red. Then he’d keep me across his knee and work his fingers into my hole till I was nearly coming, and then he’d put me on the floor and shove his dick in and — and make me a good boy again.” He ran out of ideas then, grabbing her thighs and thrusting upward and babbling variations on the theme of “fuck me, Daddy,” until she tensed up and shivered all over and he let go, breaking with a delicious shudder after a few more thrusts with Yennefer lying on top of him, her slight weight bounced by his hips. They lay still, breathing hard, Jaskier feeling proud of himself for such a satisfying performance. Her hair had fallen across his face and he tried to blow it away. It fell in his mouth and he had to spit and brush it away with one hand. 

“You’re weird,” said Yennefer after a while.

“Pot, kettle.”

“Sorry, Daddy, fuck me, Daddy,” she mimicked with a smile, lifting her head.

“Sorry, Daddy, fuck me, Daddy, got you dripping wet, thank you very much. I could hear and feel you _squelching._ My balls are soaked.”

“Don’t ever tell a woman she squelches. I can’t believe anyone fucks you twice,” she said, and kissed him. 

“It’s another very popular choice. You’re going to choose it again, you know.”

“Am I?”

“I predict so. Let’s have a bet. If I win, I get to have sex with you. If you lose, you get to have sex with me.”

“Twit,” she said, sitting up again and giving his chest a slap. “Bags first bath.”

They emerged into pre-dawn greyness, and Yennefer snapped the handkerchief into her pocket with a brisk movement. 

“I am going to want that suit back, you know,” said Jaskier. “You’ve only made it look better.”

“To put it another way, it looks better on me.”

“It’s not tailored for you.”

“True, your bum’s bigger than mine.”

“I’m proud of that fact. Anyway, I’m going to find a bakery and get us some hot fresh bread for breakfast.” He jingled the pitcher of coins. “I’m rich, did you know? Embarrassing Geralt for fun and profit. A pitcher for my witcher, making me richer. There’s something in that.”

“Are you going to be this perky all day?”

“I might be!”

When he got back with a baker’s dozen of crisp golden rolls, the mood seemed off. Geralt was subdued and edged slightly away from him when he sat down beside him on the steps of the caravan. Far from being all loved up and honeymoony, he was tense and terse. Jaskier shot an enquiring look at Yennefer and she shrugged and looked puzzled. As they ate Geralt was all business, keen to claim his bounty, pack up and move on. 

“But I just met some nice girls I was going to see again today,” said Ciri. 

“And after a gig like last night, are we really going to deprive these people of me so soon? You can take leaving them wanting more too far,” said Jaskier, trying to rub Geralt’s arm coaxingly. Geralt shrugged his hand off and looked uncomfortable. That was extra weird — not annoyed to be pawed at, the way he sometimes was if he was in one of his moods, just very _uncomfortable_. He caught Yennefer’s eye behind his back and mouthed “The fuck?” She mouthed back “I don’t know,” clearly exasperated. Geralt wasn’t even grateful for the (extremely nice) rolls because he’d taken it on himself to make breakfast and cooked too many eggs. After the meal he wanted to take Ciri along to claim the bounty on the teeth, but she dug her heels in. 

“If we have to leave today, I want to find Annika and Mina and say goodbye,” she said. “We were going to carry on the knight’s adventure with the princesses.”

“I thought the knight died tragically and beautifully,” said Jaskier.

“Oh, we decided to change that, or at least not have it yet,” she said. “We’re going to have the quest for the unicorn first.”

“I thought you wanted to be involved in the actual contract to exterminate the vampires,” said Geralt irritably.

“Well, you didn’t let me, so I found something else to do,” she said.

“I don’t think you would have enjoyed it anyway,” said Yennefer, perhaps trying to be kind. “It was pretty disgusting.” For some reason that made Geralt get up and tramp off by himself. Jaskier would have gone after him except that he was just then interrupted by an approach from the head of the silversmiths’ guild, wanting him to play at a party he was holding that evening. The money was good and he decided Geralt would just have to cope with staying in town another night; he was being dutiful and responsible and earning coin for the family, and also, frankly, looking forward to being the centre of attention again. Granted, he had gone down in the world if he was this excited to be the star turn at a small-town guild dinner, but it was a start. 

He was about to begin planning what he would play when he was further interrupted by the chair of the mining engineers’ guild social committee wondering if he’d care to perform at their annual dinner-dance (perhaps not, since it was still six weeks off) or, if not, would he come and hear his son play the vielle? The boy was desperate to go to Oxenfurt but had no proper teacher to prepare him and, frankly, the chairman was hoping Jaskier would kindly discourage him from his ambition and save him a lot of money in fees. Jaskier said of course he would, privately resolving to encourage the boy flagrantly even if he was tone deaf, just because it offended him to be asked to help squash a young musican’s aspirations.

As it turned out, rather than a total dearth of local talent, there was at least one very talented young person, playing beautifully on the vielle his late grandmother had begun teaching him before she passed away the winter before last. Jason was rather shy, quite charming in a diffident, floppy-haired way, and also had a decent voice that would improve once it finished breaking. Jaskier immediately recognised him as a find and wished restlessly that the circumstances were right to take him under his wing as a protégé. They weren’t, though, so he spent the day helping the boy get started on some more advanced exercises, trying to build up his confidence, loading him with information about scholarships and writing him letters of introduction to some old friends still on the faculty. By the time he had to rush off to get ready for the silversmiths’ party Jason had learned three new songs, redoubled his determination to get to Oxenfurt, and possibly formed a crush on Jaskier, which was an unintended side effect of all the encouragement and hopefully innocuous. He couldn’t help it if he made the life of a bard look glamorous and sexy. 

He got back from the party very late, rather drunk, and very successful-feeling. He had a heavy purse of (naturally) silver which he was looking forward to pouring into Geralt’s lap; that ought to put a smile on his big grumpy face. The door of the caravan was locked and nobody answered when he knocked or kicked on it. He went and stumbled around the wasteground opposite in case the fuck tent was there being invisible, but there was nothing. Feeling lonely, confused and mildly alarmed about what the hell had happened to his people, he wobbled into the inn to ask about a room for the night. 

“Oh, master bard, your wife already took a room for the night,” said the landlord when he enquired.

Jaskier blinked at him owlishly. “Who’s my wife?” he asked. 

“The pretty dark lady who was in last night? Came to get your daughter?”

“Oh! She’s not my _wife._ She’s a… well, how to describe her? Minx, vixen, strumpet, baggage, squeasel, I’m really making her sound a bit awful, I quite like her really, where did you say she was?”

“Upstairs. Took a room for her and your little girl,” said the landlord, looking rather disapproving. 

“I forgot, she is my wife really. Joy of my life. I’ll just toddle up and join them. Which one’d you say?”

He found the room indicated upstairs and played an elaborate and artistic drumbeat on it with his knuckles until it was jerked open by Ciri in her nightshirt. He finished the figure with a light tap on her forehead. “Darling daughter! I regurn, cush with flash. Flush with cash. Did I say _regurn?_ I’m sure I didn’t mean regurn. C’n I come in?”

“Of course you can, you twit,” she said, standing aside. He strolled in and saw Yennefer was sitting by the fire with a glass of wine and a bit of a glower. “Yen! Yen, you’re my wife. Did you know you’re my wife? Man downstairs says you’re my wife. How rich I am in a wife. Wife doesn’t sound like a real word any more. But speaking of which, where’s Geralt?”

“He’s been in a foul mood all day and I told him to piss off until he could be civil,” said Yennefer. “I expect he’s sleeping in the caravan, so we came to spend the night here.”

“Oh dear,” said Jaskier, swaying. “But we can’t have that.”

“When I didn’t get home by sunset he came and found me and dragged me home from Annika’s place,” said Ciri, getting back into the smaller of the room’s two beds. “It was mortifying.”

“Oh no. What’s gotten into him? We had such a nice… convivial time last night. I’d’ve thought he’d be cheerful today, and instead he’s been in a shit.”

“In a shit?” repeated Yennefer. 

“I don’t know. I’m tired and I’m going to sleep and bother about it in the morning. Mrs Pankratz, you may join me when ready. I shall not insist upon my conjugal rights because I like breathing.” He lay down across the foot of the larger bed and shut his eyes to stop the ceiling swinging. 

“Gross,” said Ciri.

“I know,” said Yennefer, “if he calls me Mrs Pankratz again I’ll curse him bald.”

Jaskier woke with a headache and a general feeling of sluggishness. His head was also hot and he couldn’t understand why, until he worked out that Yennefer had brought him a cup of tea (kind) and was holding it on his forehead to see how long it took to wake him up or burn him (typical).

“Good morning, hellcat,” he said drowsily.

“Good morning, wastrel. You snored and farted all night.”

“Sorry, I do snore when I’m drunk. And there were these terrific stuffed cabbage leaf thingies at the party. So oniony. So pungent. So ill-advised.” He reached up and took the mug, and carefully sat up to sip at it.

She sat down beside him, cupping her hands around her own tea, and said, “Today I want you to talk to Geralt. He’s being an arse and I have no patience. Ciri was so embarrassed when he hauled her away from her friend’s house — particularly as they think you’re her dad so when he said ‘I’m Ciri’s father and I’m taking her home’ they thought he was just a large, strange, angry man and nearly called the watch.”

“That and I’m pretty sure they think her name is Fiona,” said Jaskier. “So confusion all round.” He could see Ciri was still asleep, so he kept his voice low.

“Well, she managed to explain that by saying Fiona is her middle name and she likes that better, which is true as far as it goes. Got herself into slightly more of a narrative pickle by making out that Geralt is her natural father, I’m her mother and you’re her stepfather.”

“And we all travel about together? Is he supposed to have cuckolded me, or did I steal you from him?”

“It’s only a marginally less eccentric explanation than the truth,” Yennefer said, shrugging. “Have you any idea what he’s in such a strop about? He was perfectly happy the night before. I mean _perfectly_ happy. If he had been more happy he would have evaporated.”

“That’s what’s so baffling about it. There must be something we didn’t see. Maybe to do with why he was up so early. Some ill omen or other damn witchery thing, and now he’s stewing over it and not telling us what’s the matter, that’s my theory.”

“Well, I want you to find out, you’re good at wheedling things out of him. I can’t use the old let him talk trick on Geralt, he just goes Hmmm.”

“Once years ago I decided not to talk to _him_ , firmly believing he would break the silence and realise how much he really liked to chat with me. I made it 36 hours and then I caved in and called him an outsized elective mute and he looked all disappointed because, I later realised, he’d thought we’d been sharing a nice companionable silence and feeling rather friendly towards me until I spoiled it.”

“Gods, he’s weird,” said Yennefer.

“And we love him.”

When he went down to the caravan, the door was still locked and knocking, kicking and calling through the keyhole produced nothing. He got out his own key and found that there was no one inside. “Huh,” he said to the empty room. Their bed didn’t look slept in. Even if Geralt was in a mood about something unknown, even if he was brooding on an omen or something like that, it seemed highly unlikely that he would leave town without either the rest of them or an explanation. His things were still in the cupboards, the pack of cards, the accounts notebook, the rather sad realisation that Geralt still kept so few personal possessions that weren’t utilitarian. Well, he definitely wouldn’t have left town without Roach, so checking on her would tell Jaskier more about what he was dealing with. He went to the inn stables where the horses were still enjoying a holiday. 

Geralt was rolled up in a blanket, sleeping on the floor of Roach’s stall. She looked at Jaskier as if to say, “You take over, I’ve done all I can.” He let himself in, crouched down and shook Geralt’s shoulder. He grumbled unintelligibly and hid his face. He smelled like beer and misery (and horse). 

“Geralt, wake up. You’ve overslept. Normal people are getting up now. Your day’s half over.” 

“Fuck off,” Geralt mumbled into the straw on the floor. 

“No, I don’t think I shall. You’re worrying us. I’ve been delegated to find out what on earth is bothering you. And I have a mild hangover so I’m not to be trifled with.”

“No,” said Geralt, rolling to wedge his face into the angle between the stall floor and the wall. 

“I’ll just sit here, you know. I have nothing else on today. You _know_ how persistent I am.” He sat down beside Geralt, then looked at the straw-strewn floor, sighed reluctantly and lay down behind him, attempting to spoon him. “Please, my love, talk to me.” Now came the very difficult part, to wait patiently and not keep talking. After about one minute he desperately wanted to fidget. After five a self-destructive urge to tickle Geralt’s ear with a bit of straw asserted itself. He resisted both manfully and stayed quiet. 

Geralt just lay there breathing a bit louder than normal. His back felt tense. Jaskier knew better than to attempt to rub it but hoped he could offer to later. This was so _boring_ and it stank to be worried and bored at the same time. They were both going to stink a bit when they got up off this floor. What on earth did it say that Geralt had chosen to sleep here instead of his own bed? Was he petulantly _trying_ to make them worry by going missing? That seemed far too immature. Did he really dislike their bunk? Was it just that he was feeling so low that only Roach’s quiet presence was comforting? He stared at the tangled back of Geralt’s head and willed him to speak. 

After an interminable time Geralt finally said, “Are you seriously going to lie there getting straw and horseshit on your clothes until I talk?”

“I tried to avoid actual horseshit when I lay down, but yes. And it’s worse for me. I don’t have a blanket.”

There was another silence, but he’d got Geralt to cave in at least a little, so he waited it out with more confidence. 

“You’re not going away, then,” Geralt said fatalistically. 

“Nope,” he said, and popped the P for emphasis. 

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Then let’s go anywhere else and talk about anything else.”

After a moment Geralt grunted and got up. He hung the blanket over the side of the stall while Jaskier slapped the straw off his clothes and then led the way out of the stables. He walked rather fast with his head down and Jaskier tagged along after. Geralt didn’t need to walk as if he was anticipating unpleasantness, he was actually fairly popular here and now thanks to Jaskier’s efforts as well as his own, but it was probably pretty ingrained. It was just an unfortunate fact that he was never really at ease in a crowd; some days he showed it by glowering and skulking, other days by acting superior and aloof. He was the only person Jaskier had seen pull off an aloof glower. 

He was a lot more comfortable in natural surroundings so it made sense when he led Jaskier out of the town gates and up a bit of a slope towards a plateau where the river ran between rocky banks. Below the town the water was muddied and contaminated by the mine workings but up here it was clear and there was no one about except for a distant boy trying and failing to hit birds on the wing with a sling and stones. Geralt tramped around picking up stones himself, and Jaskier sat down on a rock, took off his boots and socks, rolled up his pants and dabbled his feet in the water. It was sharply cold despite the warm, sunny day, flowing down from the higher mountains. 

Geralt came and stood nearby and started throwing rocks in the water, presumably as some kind of relief for his feelings, because you couldn’t skip stones over quickly flowing water and he seemed to be trying for rather aggressive splashes. 

“I met a really delightful boy yesterday,” Jaskier said, leaning back on his hands. “Bright and talented young musician. Made me miss teaching, which I haven’t for a while.”

“You teach Ciri,” Geralt pointed out. 

“So do you — I mean teaching more young people, and to more advanced levels. I get fed up and swear it off every few years, then go back when I don’t remember the annoying bits so well.”

“I still have trouble believing you ever had a job,” said Geralt. 

“Well, that’s rather rude of you, because I am a well-regarded teacher and have won awards — and so have my students, which I might be prouder of.”

“I don’t mean you couldn’t _get_ a job or keep it,” said Geralt. “It just never seemed like something you’d want. Too settled, too much responsibility.”

“Where did you think I’d go in autumn, then?”

“I don’t know,” said Geralt, and proceeded to give the sort of answer that showed he’d thought about it a lot, possibly while pining or even yearning. “Stayed with friends. Went home to your parents. Took an engagement in a lord’s house entertaining his guests over the winter. Got yourself a rich mistress.”

“I have in fact done all of those at various times, and you forgot the sugar daddy option. At one time I assumed you hibernated, but then I remembered that’s bears. Anyway, yeah, sometimes I teach. They’re always happy to have me back.” He cast a sideways glance at Geralt. “I’ve wondered if you’d think about joining me at some stage.”

“But I always winter over at Kaer Morhen,” said Geralt. 

“Always have, yes, but always have to?”

“Our family,” Geralt began to say, then stopped and sat down on a boulder. He scratched his arm. “I shouldn’t assume you want it to stay that way, should I?”

“Probably just as well if we discuss it.”

“Nor should I assume Ciri wants to spend every winter cooped up with a lot of grizzled old men.”

“And me.”

“And a middle-aged one.”

“Watch it, you.” It was reassuring to banter a bit, though Geralt still looked awfully serious. 

“How long have you been thinking about this?” Geralt asked. 

“Really? Since talking to Jason yesterday. I’m not one of life’s planners.”

“I wouldn’t like living in a city,” said Geralt. “The crowds and the noise and the smells. It gets on my nerves. Feels like everything is all over me and I never get a rest from it.”

“Well, I don’t have to live _in_ college. Professors with families often don’t. We could take a house on the outskirts, where there’s space and trees and whatnot.”

“What would I _do,_ though?” Geralt asked. 

“Whatever you liked. Hunt urban monsters. Help Yen run a mildly shady potions shop. Knit socks and get pleasantly chubby.”

“When I agreed to talk about anything else I thought you’d talk about nonsense and nothing, not spring a serious question on me,” said Geralt. 

“It’s not urgent. It’s not even Midsummer yet. Although when it is, I should probably make up my mind, and send a letter if I’m going to.”

“That’s a bit close, isn’t it?” Geralt asked, looking startled. 

“I told you I didn’t plan this.”

“Is this a ruse to make me think discussing what I don’t want to discuss is less of a headache than this?”

“Not at all. We could talk instead about, ooh, why you felt the need to embarrass Ciri in front of her friends last night.”

“Fuck me,” Geralt muttered. “I can’t do anything right.” He threw another rock at the river, so hard that it just flew over and bounced off the other bank with a clatter.

“I understand you getting worried when she didn’t come home as expected, but it sounds like you laid it on a bit thick,” Jaskier said, pulling his wet feet up on the rock and resting his elbows on his knees. 

“Anything could have happened to her!” Geralt exclaimed. “She could be dead in a ditch, or slung over the back of a horse heading to Nilfgaard!”

“But as it happened she was at the house of the friends she’d said she was going to play with, and when you saw that, you could have taken a deep breath and shown that famous emotional reserve of yours.”

“Oh yes, I’m sure if it’d been you you’d have been all charm,” Geralt said bitterly. 

“Well, yeah, because I’ve invested in developing charm. Charm’s my bread and butter at times. I wouldn’t send you to deal with a girl’s parents any more than you’d send me to behead a cockatrice.”

“You don’t behead a cockatrice, you just make it see itself in a mirror,” said Geralt impatiently. “And since you’ve always got a mirror, yes, I actually might.”

“Well, that just demonstrates my complete ignorance of proper cockatrice disposal. Anyway, I’m pretty sure she’ll forgive you right away if you just say you’re sorry you went overboard. And in future you know a calm ‘It’s time for Fiona to come home now’ will suffice. If you need to give her a bollocking for being late, do it away from the little friends.”

“I don’t understand her wanting to play princesses with those girls. Her of all people.”

“Ah, but she’s not playing a princess. She’s playing the knight who protects princesses. She’s taking after you really. I know your childhood didn’t involve many games of make-believe, but did you never daydream of being a knight?”

“Well… yes, I did,” Geralt admitted. “Did you?”

“Oh, I was going to be a prince of the Bird People of the Sky Kingdom. I had a family tree and everything, it was very involved. I kept changing what I was going to be called, but I came back to Peregrin most often.”

He’d finally got Geralt to smile, almost to laugh, shaking his head gently. “Yeah, you would,” he said. 

“Did your knight have a name? Were you just going to be Sir Geralt of Rivia, simple and classic, or did you have other ideas?”

“Oh, I wasn’t just going to be Geralt. I was going to be Geralt Roger Eric du Haute-Bellegarde.”

Jaskier’s mouth dropped open. After a moment he managed to say, “You are shitting me.”

“I am not.” Geralt had that very pleased with himself, “I am laughing at you on the inside” look. 

“I — I am incoherent with disbelief and delight. Why on _earth_ wouldn’t you tell me this before?” Jaskier asked, beaming. 

“It didn’t come up,” said Geralt with a careless shrug. 

“Okay. Okay, I am trying very hard to be composed. Can I just say that I have just fallen in love with you _again,_ so hard, that is the most delightful and lovable thing I have ever heard, you gave yourself a _hyphen_ , I adore you, I want to get married right _now_ and be Julian Alfred du Haute-Bellegarde for the rest of my life, it is a _travesty_ that men aren’t allowed to marry each other, I would marry you and divorce you so I could immediately marry you again, and I love you so much?”

“You don’t think it’s pretentious, then?”

“It is gorgeously pretentious. It is — it is a _soufflé_ of a name. It’s a box of sugar candy with a gold lace bow on top. Knowing that at one time in your life you were — were a dreamy little _sweetheart_ who would decide he wanted his name to be Geralt Roger Eric du Haute-Bellegarde is _enchanting.”_

“I don’t know about dreamy little sweetheart. I thought it sounded noble and knightly, I wasn’t trying to be romantic.”

“Noble knights are romantic and dreamy, don’t try to wiggle out of it. I just — I — my heart is so full, I can’t put it into words.”

“That hasn’t stopped you trying.”

“Nothing can stop _me_ trying. Oh, gods, I picked the right one, I picked the _right one._ I mean I knew that, but what wonderful additional proof.” He sat with his chin in his hands and gazed at Gerald besottedly.

“That is far too much pleasure to derive from a silly name.”

“It’s a beautiful name that will give me joy to my last breath.” Jaskier clasped his hands to his heart, heaved a sigh and subsided. 

“You can’t tell anyone,” said Geralt.

“You’re not ashamed of it, are you?”

“No, I just want to pick and choose when I get to startle them with it.”

“Then I would never deny you that innocent pleasure. Or indeed, most guilty pleasures. The guilty ones are some of the nicest.”

For some reason, that dulled Geralt’s sweet little smile. He threw another stone in the river. Odd. 

“Geralt,” said Jaskier, “I know I offered to talk about anything else, but seriously, what’s eating you? I can’t understand it. What went wrong in between you leaving us this morning and breakfast, to spoil how wonderfully happy you were? Did something happen — did you see someone, did they say something? Was there an ill omen or an evil portent or a curse or a threat? What?”

“It’s nothing,” said Geralt.

“Well that’s just transparent bullshit. What’s _wrong?”_

Geralt abruptly bent, tore a rock about twice the size of his head out of the ground, and flung it into the river with a roar. The splash hit Jaskier full in the face and soaked him.

“You dick!’ he exclaimed when he could breathe. “That’s how you react to an honest expression of concern from someone who loves you, is it?”

“Leave it alone, Jaskier!”

“Oh, so can you promise you’re going to come home and be normal and not piss everyone off and clearly be miserable? Because if not, I can’t and I won’t. If something’s upset you, I want to know! Has someone been horrible to you? Do I need to go and sort them out? Because I will!” He scrambled to his feet and pulled off his jacket to try to wring the water out.

“It’s nothing like that!”

“Then is it something _I’ve_ done?”

“No, it’s what I’ve done. Obviously!”

“I am completely lost here, Geralt, also soaking wet. Whatever is so obvious to you, please explain it to poor, confused, _wet_ me.” He dropped the wet jacket with a smack and held out his hands beseechingly.

Geralt’s shoulders sagged. “The way I behaved the other night was shameful. I’m disgusted with myself.”

“Oh, love. Really?”

“I can’t stop thinking about what Ciri would think of me.”

“But… it’s none of Ciri’s business. And we did it all in a nice private place where we wouldn’t bother anyone. And no one sane wants to think of their parents having sex in even the most boring ways possible, you’re not especially bad.”

“And how can Yennefer respect me?”

“Were you listening to her? Because I was very interested in what she had to say on the subject, and I definitely remember her saying she doesn’t think any less of you and she _likes_ it when you’re yielding and it gets her all wet seeing you surrender. If anything, I think she has slightly more respect for you for being honest about what you enjoy. We all talked about it together and you said you were all right,” Jaskier said, dismayed. “Geralt, did you agree when you didn’t truly want to? I would feel horrible if I pushed you or rushed you into something you weren’t really keen on.”

“That isn’t it either.” Geralt sat down on the boulder again, hunched over with his hands hanging between his knees. “You were almost _too_ careful to make sure I could stop if I wanted to. I didn’t take any of the chances you gave me. Everything I did was what I wanted to do. That’s why it’s bothering me so much. I thought I _was_ all right. Then afterwards when I was calmer I felt so…” He made a small disgusted throat-clearing noise.

“Oh dear,” said Jaskier. He sat down beside Geralt, carefully. “I suppose it’s the risk that we run when we try something new.”

“And then, on top of it all, I’ve disappointed you because you enjoyed it so much,” Geralt sighed. 

“No, look, don’t worry about that,” Jaskier said, patting his knee. “I definitely only want to do things you’ll enjoy as much as I do. That leaves so many things we _can_ do, this one doesn’t matter at all.” He couldn’t pretend he didn’t feel disappointed; it had been such lovely _fun_ and had made him feel such a deep tenderness for Geralt, besides feeling closer to Yennefer and enjoying being playful with her. He’d already been looking forward to lots more. “But Geralt… you’ve every right to feel however you feel about this, how you feel is terribly important to me, but you’ve no right to take it out on the rest of us.”

“I’m sorry.”

“And I’m not angry with you, but I do wish you’d explained sooner. It’ll be all right, love. We never have to do that again.”

Geralt cleared his throat again. “I still want to,” he said. 

“Ah. Well… maybe our main mistake was going the whole hog right away. Maybe we should just keep easing you in, a bit at a time.”

“I _want_ the whole hog, I want how overwhelming it was.”

“Then we appear to be at a bit of an impasse.”

“What if I can’t go back to being satisfied with normal sex?”

“Define normal sex, though, because for us that means anal and that’s already naughty dirty sex to a lot of people.”

“Sex that is just what I’m used to and comfortable with and doesn’t make me feel…”

“Ashamed of yourself?”

“No, like… like I’m being changed by it. Like everything else goes away and I’m giving the two of you power to… it’s like some of…” He stopped, twisting his hands together. “It’s not the same as what I went through that gave me my mutations. Those were painful, exhausting trials and I didn’t have any real choice about them. And they did change me permanently, in ways that make me what I am and I wish could be different but I can’t imagine what my life would be like then and I wouldn’t know you, I probably would have died before you were born, and what right do I have to want it different, am I saying my life is more important than all of those people that would have died if not for me being able to do what I do? It’s not the same but it’s got… a kind of echo of it, perhaps… I don’t know.”

Jaskier listened, feeling entirely out of his depth. “So… do you mean you don’t feel safe giving us that sort of power over you?”

“I do feel safe because I love you and I trust you, but I keep thinking that’s a mistake, surely it can’t be safe to go there. You took me… down very deep somewhere that I don’t normally go and that I never would expect to be a good or pleasurable or satisfying experience. You know, I… I submitted to what was done to me when I was young because I wanted to be _a good boy.”_

Jaskier very deeply wanted to say “Yikes” but knew it wouldn’t sound sympathetic. “Is it all right if I give you a hug?”

“Yes. Gods, don’t start getting the idea you can’t touch me because I’ve got this wrong with me. I couldn’t stand that.”

“There is _nothing_ wrong with you,” Jaskier said firmly, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s waist and holding him tight. “I’m sorry I didn’t understand what I was playing with.”

“Don’t see how you could have guessed,” Geralt said, leaning into him and putting his head down on his shoulder, a movement of trust and dependence that brought tears to Jaskier’s eyes. “I didn’t understand what was happening until it had happened, and I didn’t really think it in words until I had to try to explain it to you. I’m still not sure I said it clearly.”

“I love you so much. I know what you mean about wishing it were different, that we wouldn’t have each other, but I wish so much that I could have you _and_ you could not be hurt like this.”

“I can’t imagine what I’d be.”

“Well, you’d be mine.” He felt Geralt’s arms tighten around him. “We’ll work something out about this, we always do. You, me and Yen.”

“I really don’t want to tell her,” mumbled Geralt. “I know I need to.”

“Well, I can keep you company when you do, for moral support. You could write it down and let her read it if that made it easier.”

“I think I’d write it out worse than I talk about it.”

“I’m great at writing, you can just talk me through it and I’ll take it down like an amanuensis.”

“When will you have a horrible problem that I get to help you with? This is so unbalanced,” Geralt said ruefully.

“Really? You help me with the biggest problem of my life all the time — emptiness and loneliness and always _wanting,_ feeling I’ll never be satisfied and I’ll soon be forgotten. And you protect me. I know you’ll always take care of me. And if I ever have to have some sort of confrontation with my parents, you can come along and stand behind me and glower meaningfully. I would love that.” He kissed Geralt’s cheek. “Also, I haven’t eaten yet and my tummy’s caving in, so you could buy me breakfast.”

“That’s probably a good,” said Geralt, and concluded “idea” after his own stomach made a fearsome sound. 

After a large breakfast Jaskier felt things looked better. Geralt was still rather subdued but seemed to feel relieved. They returned to the caravan so Jaskier could change his still rather damp clothes. He was into nondescript second-hand shirts and pants now and didn’t feel nearly as splendid as he liked to, but it helped that Geralt hugged him from behind when he had his shirt off and ruffled his hand through the hair on his belly. 

“You still smell like you slept in a stable,” he said, “but thank you.”

“Do we try to write it down now?” Geralt asked him, leaning his chin on his shoulder. 

“Not unless you’re up to it. That was a fairly enormous conversation and I understand if you want a rest.”

“I think I need to try while it’s fresh in my mind,” said Geralt. 

“All right, then, but I reserve the right to stop for a drink. This is a day that needs all the help it can get.”

Geralt was not an easy writing partner. He paced up and down the length of the caravan, stepping over and sometimes on Jaskier’s feet because he kept absent-mindedly stretching them out from under the little table, until Jaskier decided he was going to sit on the bed instead with his notebook on his knees. He talked in short, fast bursts, with Jaskier scribbling to keep up, but when it was read back to him he changed his mind, and wanted to take things out that Jaskier thought were important for Yennefer to understand. 

“It’s different for you,” Geralt said, “you _like_ declaring that you’re weak and wanting and a big painful mess. I’d like to keep some of the mess back if I can.”

“If you take out the part about the deep dark place the rest of it doesn’t make sense. I’m fairly sure she’s got some kind of deep dark place of her own. She’ll understand.” He wondered a bit sourly whether Yen had ever had her promised guts-hanging-out talk with Geralt and whether he was destined to spend his life as a sounding board for conversations they wouldn’t have. 

“I don’t want to sound like I’m accusing her of things.”

“You’re not, you’re explaining why you had such an unusual belated reaction to something you’d otherwise enjoyed. I didn’t get it until you got to that part. It sounds as if the shame is on the surface, not that it isn’t real, but the deep dark place is under that and it’s its own very potent thing. I mean, you _enjoy_ a bit of shame, the right kind, anyway. She’ll get it.”

“I suppose,” said Geralt, uneasily. 

“Why are you so much more reluctant to tell her than to tell me?”

Geralt looked surprised. “I’m in love with her,” he said. 

“And you’re not with me?”

“No, I said it the wrong way round. We’re not friends. I’m just in love with her. You’re my friend _and_ I’m in love with you. Why do you think she sent you to ask me about it?”

“I thought she was just feeling too cross with you and thought I’d be calmer.”

“No,” said Geralt. He paused, then went on, “I wouldn’t dare say the things to her I do to you. Bickering, she calls it. It’s not like a serious fight, but with her it would feel like it. With you I know we’ll make it up in a minute or two. I’m never as sure about her.” He looked uncomfortable, but seemed determined to work the idea through. “It’s why Yen dominating me is exciting, but it’s a knife edge. You doing it feels safe. It’s comforting.”

 _I wonder how much of that is because she dumped you, but you dumped me._ “I feel rather special, then,” he said. 

“I wanted you to hold me afterwards,” Geralt blurted out suddenly. “I wanted her too but I wanted you there, I wanted to fall asleep with your arms around me and you inside me, but you pulled out to finish and then you went to get her off and it just… it would have felt better if you’d stayed, but I couldn’t pull myself together to tell you that. And it’s selfish. I don’t know if it would have made any difference to the way I felt the next morning, but maybe it would.”

“Like you needed a bit more time to wind down than you got?”

“I just needed you. I don’t know.” He folded his arms and stood leaning against the wall. “I was happy when I woke up but it slipped away. Probably would have done anyway.”

“But maybe not if you’d woken up with me behind you?” Jaskier asked. 

“I don’t know.”

“Listen, do you think it’d help your mood right now just to come and lie down and I’ll spoon you and hug you?”

Geralt shrugged uncertainly. 

“Come and try it.” He put the notebook aside and scooted back into the middle of the bunk, holding out his arms. Geralt hesitated but joined him, lying down a little stiffly. Jaskier squeezed up to his back and hugged him tight. “Ignoring the current lack of a cock inside you, is this what you wanted?” He felt Geralt give one big convulsive shiver, then nod. “Then let’s do this for as long as you like. Have a little nap if you want to.” Geralt grabbed one of his hands and held it in his own against his chest. “I won’t make that mistake again. I’ll hold you all night.”

Geralt fell asleep quite quickly, though it was still late morning and the little box-like room was getting hot. Jaskier found that he was able to follow, at least into a patchy doze. The next time he was awake Geralt was kissing his neck and rubbing his chest and belly under his shirt. He felt overheated, sweaty and a bit headachey, but then he was being kissed sweetly and wetly and didn’t care. 

“You’re feeling better?” he asked Geralt. 

“You know how sometimes you feel like complete shit and like something terrible is happening and then you have something to eat and realise that’s what was wrong with you? Like that, but sleeping with you holding me instead of eating.”

“Aw, love!” He’d woken on his back and he lay happily passive as Geralt pulled his pants down (his own being already on the floor) and sucked him into full hardness, slicking him all over with his tongue, before getting back astride him, holding his cock and trying to guide him inside. “Stop that,” said Jaskier, surprised. “Spit’s not enough, you know that.” They had tried that _once_ when they were caught short and it had ended in slight bleeding and great regret.

“But I need it,” Geralt said, almost in a whine. 

“You can have it,” Jaskier said, putting his hand between them as a preemptive measure, “but you know perfectly well there’s oil in my shaving kit in the cupboard. Get it out and don’t hurt yourself.” When Geralt came back with it he reflexively said, “There, good —“ then stopped awkwardly. If the word was going to set off some sort of dark helpless feeling for Geralt he didn’t want to blunder into that. 

“No, say it, I want you to say it,” Geralt breathed, straddling him.

“Good boy, _such_ a good boy, put me inside you, you’re so lovely and tight, you squeeze me so nicely, does that feel good?” Jaskier babbled. He was actually a little concerned Geralt wasn’t giving himself time to prepare, he felt _very_ tight and twitchy, but at the same time the tightness and twitching felt so _good_ on his cock. Geralt was sinking his heavy arse down on the shaft with a hiss of breath through his teeth that gave way to a groan of pleasure and relief. He was bent over awkwardly to keep from cracking his head on the bunk above, which prevented him riding vigorously, but he sank down on his elbows to kiss Jaskier as he hitched his hips up and down. 

“Oh, that’s my beautiful boy,” Jaskier moaned. “He needs it so much, doesn’t he? Just _desperate._ I will _always_ take care of you and fuck you the way you need.” 

_“Yes,”_ Geralt said, pumping his hips harder. “Need you inside me. Need you to come in me.” Much more and the caravan would be bouncing, which didn’t seem to matter when Geralt was so joyfully horny and eager. 

“Of course I will! Don’t I always keep you well fucked?” He slid his hands over Geralt’s back and squeezed his buttocks. 

_“Yes.”_ A deep, heavy kiss, and Geralt shifted his angle to get more pressure where he wanted it. 

“I’m so proud of how you’ve learned to use this wonderful thing. I love knowing I taught you all your tricks, you gorgeous s —” He suddenly wasn’t sure “slut” was okay and let it fizzle out, sinking it in another kiss, sucking Geralt’s tongue and fucking up into his hot core. “Oh, I love you!”

“Love you,” Geralt panted. His thighs were slick with sweat and slapping lightly against Jaskier’s skin. “Feels _so_ fucking good. You’re in so _deep.”_

“Yes, when you put your whole weight on it like that!” Jaskier said, half laughing. “Oh, you’re such a _good_ dirty boy. Trust me, every time we fuck you make me _so_ proud of you. That’s why I want to show you off. Oh, _look_ at my beautiful man! Look how he rams himself onto my cock! Look at that big hard rosy dick bouncing and dripping! Look at that face, the picture of passion! My love, you’ll make me come so hard.”

“Not yet. Don’t you fucking dare.” His eyes were bright and fierce and fixed on Jaskier’s, their pupils huge and dark.

“What if I can’t help it?” He wrapped a hand around Geralt’s cock and tugged it lightly, his hand slipping on warm precum, making a circle under the head to get the sensitive spot there. “Have to bring you with me.” Geralt was now having a little struggle between grinding his prostate down on Jaskier’s cock and trying to thrust his own cock into the ring of Jaskier’s thumb and fingers. “That’s it, my darling, oh Geralt, oh — fff — come on now, come for me!” He arched up, pumping faster, giving little sharp gasps of delight mingling with Geralt’s deep grunts, each pushing the other further for as long as they could bear. He felt a surge of triumph when Geralt came first, gripping him tight with his inner muscles and his thighs and streaking his belly with spurts of white, and the surge and the squeeze together carried him over into a sweet, sharp orgasm. 

Geralt lowered his head to rest on Jaskier’s forehead, sweat running between them, panting hot against his face, giving a deep sniff and closing his eyes. Jaskier wasn’t sure if he was just enjoying the way they smelled together or if it was a sniff of emotion. He stroked his cheek and his hair either way. “My beloved boy,” he sighed. “Sweet and hot and so, so good.”

“Normal sex still works for me, then,” said Geralt. 

“Our first full fuck in this bed. I’m really impressed you did it without banging your head on the upper bunk. Or breaking the wagon axle.”

“Stay inside me for a while.”

“Of course I will. I sort of have to. You’re on top of me and you’re heavy. But I would stay just to please you.”

Geralt opened his eyes and looked down at him calmly. He turned his head to kiss the palm of Jaskier’s hand. “Sometimes I wonder if the curse made it feel so important to have you come inside me. Since that was a condition.”

“We broke the curse. You just like how squishy and messy it feels. Because you’re also a dirty boy. Aren’t you?” He traced his finger over the nearly-gone scab on Geralt’s cheekbone. 

Geralt closed his eyes briefly. “Yes,” he said. 

“So dirty, and that’s the way I love you.” He gave him a soft kiss. “Dirty boy who loves to suck and fuck and get full of my cum. Something like that?” Geralt kissed him deeply, sighing contentedly. “Are we getting into your deep dark place when I say things like this?”

“Somewhere near it, but I like being here with you.”

“All right, I’m getting the idea.” He plucked out a wisp of straw that had somehow remained in Geralt’s hair all this time and flicked it away. “I feel like more _sensible_ men than we might have _discussed_ how to do this rather than just sort of _doing_ it extempore. You could just as easily have got horribly upset.”

“We’re not sensible men. I used to be.”

“No you didn’t, you were just grumpy and cynical. Too many people think it’s the same thing. Gods… I love your face. I love your sweet, relaxed, afterglowy face.”

“Same to you.” He laid down his head beside Jaskier’s on the pillow. 

“You are melted onto me like cheese on toast.” He ran his hands up under Geralt’s shirt and over his back, sleek with sweat, smoothing them up and down. After a little while he began to hum softly, as much to amuse himself as to soothe Geralt. It was a little dull to lie still for so long, and he was beginning to need a piss, but Geralt seemed very contented. It would not in any way, literal or metaphorical, be correct to describe him as sucking his thumb but there was a certain _placidity_ there that evoked the comparison. He wasn’t sleeping, just lying quietly in Jaskier’s arms. Eventually he raised himself a bit on his arms and kissed Jaskier’s cheek. 

“Thank you,” he said, a little sheepishly. “You’ve been very patient.”

“I have, and you’re worth it. Let’s find a towel, shall we?”

They were about as cleaned up as they could be without benefit of soap and water and Jaskier had prevailed on Geralt to let him comb his hair when there was a sharp rap on the door and they heard Yennefer’s voice. 

“Anyone in there?” she asked crisply. “Speak now, I’m coming in.” 

“Yes,” said Jaskier, “but proceed.” He was sitting on the side of their bed with Geralt sitting on the floor in front of him. Until then he had been almost in a doze from the comfort of having Jaskier’s hands in his hair, after everything else, despite the occasional sharp tug on a tangle. Now he felt fully awake and quite apprehensive about seeing Yen again, especially after how disgusted she’d looked with him when she told him to get out. He felt a fresh wave of regret and embarrassment about the way he’d spoken to both her and Ciri, sounding angry and self-righteous and defensive when inside he was in a cold sweat, feeling like he was doing everything wrong and knew it was wrong but couldn’t stop himself doing it, like a nightmare. He wasn’t sure he deserved to feel so comforted after that performance. That was the trouble with Jaskier, he loved him so much he would probably never be as hard on him as he deserved. Even if he criticised him and said things like “transparent bullshit” he’d keep on worrying about how Geralt felt and trying to make it better. 

Yennefer came in looking disgruntled, coughed and immediately fanned the door. “I don’t know what it is,” she said, “because neither of you is that strong-smelling on his own, but together you produce the most _pungent_ sex-funk I’ve ever encountered. I don’t even need to ask what you’ve done. It makes the eyes water.”

Geralt felt a combination of indignation and shame; it was just a natural smell, mostly sweat, and she didn’t need to be snide about it, but her disgust made him feel filthy, completely different from Jaskier indulgently calling him a dirty boy. 

“I think you must just be abnormally sensitive to it,” said Jaskier. “It does smell a bit _musky_ in here but not eye-wateringly so. You may detect notes of a stable floor and of river water. We’ve had a busy morning.”

“It’s three in the afternoon,” said Yennefer, slinging herself down to sit at the little table. “This is the most boring town I’ve ever been in. It is a hole built around a hole. If it weren’t for the fact Ciri is so happy here I would gleefully put ergot in the wells. Only rampant mass hallucinations could make the place interesting.”

“I’m sorry,” said Geralt.

 _“You_ didn’t make it this fucking boring,” she said, waving a hand dismissively.

“I mean I’m sorry for the way I’ve been behaving since yesterday,” he said. “Jaskier’s talked some sense into me.”

“Something almost no one has ever said,” said Jaskier cheerfully, combing out a knot. 

“Oh,” she said. “Well done, Jaskier. Apology provisionally accepted, depending on what the hell all that sulking was about.”

“You didn’t get a lot of _sympathy_ when you were growing up, did you?” asked Jaskier.

“What’s your point?”

“He wasn’t sulking, he was upset.”

“You missed most of it swanning around being fêted,” Yennefer pointed out. “Do you know how he is when he’s in a foul mood?”

“Do _I_ know how he is when he’s in a foul mood? Madam, for a good twenty years I was both the chief witness to and prime cause of his foul moods, and he hasn’t had a real one since I started giving him the good stuff. The most you’ve seen is a fit of the grumpies.”

“Are you _helping?”_ Geralt asked him incredulously.

“Probably not, piping down now.”

“If you have an explanation, I’d like to hear it,” said Yennefer, “but let Jaskier finish, it’s difficult to take you seriously while you’re being groomed.” 

That made his cheeks burn, although he thought her tone was probably on the affectionate side of sarcasm. He felt Jaskier’s hands quickly giving his hair a last once-over and then gathering and tying it into what felt like a less haphazard version of the messy, off-centre knot he had put it into the other night. That made him uncomfortable too; he was prepared to believe Jaskier just thought his hair looked nice that way, but the association was unhelpful. 

“My work here is done,” Jaskier said. “It’s rather handsome like that. Go on, love, just tell her what you told me.” He gave Geralt’s shoulder a pat. 

“Yes, I’m listening,” said Yennefer, chin in hand. 

“I was in a bad mood because I was panicking and trying not to show it,” Geralt said. “I felt… unstable and unsure about myself. I thought I had worked it out and got over it, but the feelings came back and wouldn’t go away. It’s written down here, it’ll make more sense.” He reached back, took the notebook from the bed and offered it to her, hoping very deeply that this would be a satisfactory explanation and he wouldn’t need to go over and over it. Jaskier’s hand was still warm on his shoulder, trying to encourage him, he thought. 

Yennefer accepted it, returned to her seat and took a look. “This is a drawing of you as a centaur,” she said. “A… pegasentaur?”

“The pages got flipped over,” said Jaskier quickly. Apparently he’d been drawing again; Geralt didn’t actively read his notebooks but he did sometimes see the pages and besides being stunned at how freely he wasted paper, he’d been struck by what peculiar things he doodled in the margins, naked people and little creatures and eyes and flowers and a fish with spider legs and a knight jousting a giant snail. Centaur portraits were new. “Turn over a couple. I headed it up ‘Explanation for Yen.’”

“He took it down from my dictation because I was having trouble,” Geralt explained. 

“It looks like it — it’s full of crossing-out and circles and arrows moving paragraphs around.”

“It’s a rough draft,” said Jaskier. 

She read quietly for a while, turning the page over and then back to check something from before. Geralt didn’t fidget, because he wasn’t a fidgeter, but he could feel the larger muscles of his neck and back locking up with tension. Jaskier was lightly stroking the back of his neck with his thumb, hand on his shoulder, and he must be able to feel it. 

“Ah,” said Yennefer eventually. “Well, that makes sense. You acted thoroughly unnecessary about it, but it makes sense. For what it’s worth, I’m really sorry I set you off. I didn’t want that at all. I guess we just can’t play that game.”

“No, I want to,” said Geralt hastily. “I just… need to do it differently, with more comfort at the end. I think you could even push me harder as long as the end was all right.”

“We did comfort you at the end, though. I cuddled you to sleep,” Yennefer said, sounding a bit hurt. 

“I needed Jaskier too. Not instead,” he said quickly, “as well. I know how greedy it sounds but, you know, if it takes both of you to get me there I think I need both of you to bring me back.”

She looked back over the pages thoughtfully. “I mean, I think all this guilt business about Ciri is a red herring. It’s just like when you have some other very pressing problem that you don’t know what to do about and so you throw yourself into cleaning and reorganising everything you own, or something like that. You feel as if you’re doing something important and you don’t have to think about the other thing. And of course, you feel the most important thing you do is take care of her, so you lunged at that for something to worry about. Don’t you think?”

“Perhaps,” said Geralt. “I don’t know. Working this out would be a lot simpler if I weren’t responsible for her too. I don’t feel as if I have enough room in my mind. For most of my life I had one thing to do and I didn’t look for anything else. It wasn’t easy but it was _simple,_ it was one _purpose._ A life of travelling around killing things doesn’t prepare you for… anything except killing more things. Now everything is so _much.”_

“I know,” said Yennefer, not unsympathetically. “Now you don’t have calm days _or_ nights, do you? Well… thank you for trying to explain it to me. I know it isn’t easy to drag these things out into the light to get a proper look at them. Can you tell me if I’m getting this right?” She held up one finger. “You really _did_ enjoy the good-boy game, and feeling overwhelmed and humiliated and praised and spoiled by both me and Jaskier, and you want to do it again but find a better way to soothe you down afterwards, which hopefully will mean you get back to normal instead of your mood plummeting into wretchedness and self-reproach.”

“Yes,” said Geralt, reasonably firmly. 

“Two,” she went on, adding a finger, “you also want to have times when you focus on worshipping me or on putting Jaskier in his place, so you’re going to need to be quite clear about that before we get started to get what you want.”

“Right,” he said, with a little more hesitation. 

“Three,” she said, “you’re just discovering this or working it out gradually, rather than having known you wanted it for some time but not having admitted it to anyone else yet?”

“Yes,” he said. “It feels like something that grew recently. I think…” He stopped and rubbed the back of his neck where it felt tight, pulling a few strands of hair loose from the bun. “Having a longer time together with Jaskier over the winter meant I got… more comfortable and thought about things I hadn’t before.” That was putting it quite mildly. 

“That’s a good point,” said Jaskier, twirling a strand around his finger. “When we were just meeting up for a short time every now and then, we didn’t really get around to… hmm, not getting _bored,_ but getting _satisfied_ with all the things we’d missed when we were apart. Whereas with all that time to fool around in the long dark nights, not to mention how pent-up we were when we got there, we definitely got more _experimental._ And you got very _oral,_ I must say. You always had a tendency to give lovebites but I was piebald with them by the solstice.” 

Geralt could feel that the back of his neck was flushing pink too. He was stuck between loving to hear Jaskier talk about him so fondly and in an almost proprietorial way, and being embarrassed and annoyed by it. The long dark nights Jaskier was talking about had been wonderful. He had felt both thrilling, intense pleasure and the deepest quiet contentment. The warm hollow of their bed under the blankets and quilts and furs had felt like a kind of burrow where he would gladly have drowsed through winter wrapped around Jaskier’s body. Jaskier had showered him with praise and kisses for every bit of his more pliant and submissive behaviour, particularly willingness to beg and to wait patiently yet not too patiently (it wasn’t any fun for Jaskier if he wasn’t squirming and breathless) while being teased. There had been so many tender whispers of “I’m so proud of you” and “You’re being so good for me, just a little bit more” that he’d lost track. He’d been dipping gently into what he now thought of as the deep place without realising it. Now hearing how proud Jaskier sounded of him was making his feelings dip again, and he wasn’t ready yet for them to do that, and it made him feel sweaty and irritable. 

His spine jolted when Jaskier bent and smacked a quick kiss onto his nape. “Plus, I’ve been sort of casually calling him a good boy for a long time, because he _is,_ but I’ve only just started really leaning into it, so I have to take some credit and/or blame for that.”

Geralt cleared his throat. “That’s enough for now,” he said.

“All right, don’t want to push my luck.” Jaskier sat back behind him and leaned on his hands. 

“It’s always fun seeing a great big man like Geralt blush and get flustered because of the way you’re talking about him, though,” said Yennefer with a little smile. 

“I know! It’s a bit of a problem how much I enjoy mildly embarrassing him. I did it the other night at the inn and really pissed him off. Didn’t I?” He nudged Geralt’s shoulder with his knee. 

“You’re doing it now,” Geralt grumbled. He wasn’t sure he could convey to Jaskier just how much things like the playing with his hair and his nape and the way Jaskier’s legs were on either side of him, knees touching his shoulders, were throwing him off while trying to have some kind of dignity for this conversation. He really didn’t think Jaskier was intentionally teasing him at the moment, he must just not realise how sensitive he was still feeling. It wasn’t the same as the extremely unhelpful habit Jaskier had developed over the winter of giving him extremely sultry come-hither looks while he was trying to talk to someone else, always from somewhere behind the other person so they didn’t know why he was distracted. The only shred of honour he’d shown about that was that he wouldn’t do it if Geralt was speaking to Ciri, but with anyone else he was fair game. In the most egregious cases he licked his lips. The mischief had been blatant and direct and at least then and there Geralt had been confident about cornering him in private as soon as possible and retaliating, usually by pinning him up against a wall and kissing and groping him until he was just about ready to come in his pants, then whispering “Not today, you little shit” and running away. He didn’t feel like he could do anything like that here and now; he was too, well, flustered was correct.

“Oh come on, that was worse,” said Jaskier cheerfully. “Here we are with dear old Yennefer; that was a roomful of happy tipsy people who I’d induced to see you as a hero, at least for that night. He grabbed me outside,” Jaskier added to Yennefer, “and roughed me up. Squeezed my bruises, bit my tongue — it’s kind of amazing that I ended up fucking _him_ that night, at that point I felt like I was going to get very enjoyably savaged. Um, Geralt? Shifting the focus for a moment from you —”

“Thank fuck,” Geralt muttered. 

“— I think sometime soon it would be quite nice if you were to rough me up properly. I mean, we’d be more sensible about it, be prepared for first aid, plan a point past which we wouldn’t go… but maybe it would be a good chance to get your own back for the embarrassment?”

“He’s asking to be punished,” Yennefer stage-whispered. “I think you should. He really is a devil.”

“Obviously I agree,” said Geralt, “but I don’t see how I can without making it obvious that he’s hobbling around the next day. Are you willing to cabbage him if need be?”

“I’ll cabbage him if I can watch.”

“You just want to cabbage me because you know it hurts,” Jaskier said, pouting.

“Look, it’s impossible to humiliate you, so you have to be tormented by merely physical means,” she said.

“It’s not impossible at all, it just can’t be done in any _fun_ way. Sexy things don’t humiliate me. Public professional failure humiliates me, in the very not-fun way where you just temporarily want to die. The only way I could possibly get a bang out of that is by being comforted afterwards, and I don’t want to get into the state where I’d need that sort of comfort in the first place, believe me, it’s not pretty,” Jaskier said.

“Huh,” said Yennefer. “I bet I could think of _something._ Where do you stand on being dressed up in girls’ clothes?”

“As long as I shaved my chest first, I’m sure I would look dazzling, so not embarrassed at all.”

“Don’t shave your chest,” Geralt said. He was fairly sure Jaskier would look ridiculous to him in a dress, but he didn’t want his chest smooth either way. The rough-soft texture of his hair and the way it held the smell of his skin were too central to the way Geralt thought of him.

“Don’t worry, my darling, I know you love the pelt, it’s not going anywhere. Anyway, I’ve done girls’ clothes, I acted in plays when I was a student. It’s funny, I’ve spent a lot of my life being told I was pretty, but you don’t realise how masculine your features are until you’re really trying to look feminine. I had a bit of a crisis of confidence at first because I thought, oh no, I wouldn’t make a pretty _girl_ at all, which somehow wounded my pride, but then I worked out how to do my make-up and was much happier with the effect.”

“You see?” said Geralt. “He is impervious to shame.”

“Why should anyone be _ashamed_ of looking pretty?” Jaskier demanded. “Justify that.”

“He’s got us there,” said Yennefer. “All right, I’ll amend my harsh judgement of this town; it’s a lot more tolerable with you two to talk to.” She smiled and the tension in Geralt’s back eased.

“What do you think about the rough-me-up notion?” Jaskier asked, giving Geralt’s shoulder another nudge. 

“I’m not in the mood for it now, but I’ll tell you when I am, because I think I’ll enjoy it.”

“Great. Just tip me the wink and I’ll start being extra provocative to add fuel to your fire. My cheek and audacity will know no bounds. You’ll have to be extremely stern to ensure I’m fully repentant.”

“You’re too gleeful about it,” said Geralt. “You don’t know how to repent.” It was impossible to imagine Jaskier _not_ having a self-satisfied little glint in his eyes if Geralt was paying attention to him, let alone actually touching him. 

“I’ve had buyer’s remorse a few times. That’s like repentance. And look, I have honestly felt ashamed of myself when I’ve broken someone’s heart by mistake.”

“Have you broken many on purpose?” Yennefer asked. 

“Umm… well, not entirely. Perhaps we’ll say recklessly rather than deliberately. Enough about that! To practicalities; how much longer should we stay here?”

“I thought you liked it,” said Geralt, feeling he wasn’t keeping up at all. 

“I like it for now, but let’s be honest, it won’t last me for long. And it’ll be sad for Ciri to say goodbye to her little mates here, but I don’t think any of them are expecting we’ll settle down and stay. Both of you want to go. I’m sure Geralt’s got some kind of plan that he’s not telling me yet so I don’t feel under pressure to move on before I want to. Don’t you, my dear?”

Geralt inclined his head in agreement. “Down the other side of the mountains, into the valley. Follow the course of the river. It was contaminated by an incident a few years ago and there’s still an unusually high incidence of mutations and monstrosities in the area, which is a hazard to the barge traffic transporting silver from the mine and other inland goods towards the cities and the coast. Plenty of work.” He leaned back and turned his head to look at Jaskier. “And if we follow the east branch of the river where it forks, we’ll eventually reach Oxenfurt. Probably in early autumn. If you want to visit.”

Jaskier’s face did that _thing_ that it did; the cheeks bloomed and the eyes widened and shone and he simply beamed. It was just hopeless if you loved someone who could do that with their face. “I think I’d like that very much,” he said, softly stroking the side of Geralt’s neck, under the earlobe, with the backs of his fingers. “It’s been ages. It sounds like a lovely plan, allowing for monstrosities. Don’t you think so, Yen?”

“Yes, I think I’m along for the ride,” she said. “I want to make one demand. Unrelated, really, but I want Geralt to myself tonight. You hog him, Jask, and I’ve been a good sport because obviously I _am_ intimidating, but _you_ can keep Ciri company tonight, thank you very much.”

“Fair enough,” said Jaskier, although he didn’t move from his seat behind Geralt, still framing him with his legs, still stroking his neck. 

“I’m not a toy you can pass back and forth between you,” Geralt pointed out, fairly mildly.

“No, you’re not. I’m just asking Jaskier to stand back and give me a clear run at you,” she said with a small glint of a smile. “Don’t worry, I’m taking nothing for granted.”

It was a relief, that night in her tent, to make love to her in what he still thought of as a normal way. It was blessedly simple. She rode him gracefully and came beautifully, and afterwards surprised him by snuggling in close to his body, her lovely hair draped over his shoulder. 

“Jaskier says you hold him all night,” she murmured. “I’d like to see what that’s like.”

“I thought you wanted space afterward,” he said, wrapping his arm around her.

“I did. Preferences change, you know. Well, _you_ know.”

Unusually, Geralt lay awake after she was asleep. _Preferences change._ It was washing over him how, although there had been a time when he simply could not focus on anyone else if she was in the room, that breath-stealing intensity had faded. It felt wrong to have a definite preference between them, especially when he had, frankly, made such a _fuss_ about her, but more and more he was realising how strongly attached he was to Jaskier, not just that he loved him but that he seemed so _necessary._

On one level you would have to say he had nothing in common with Jaskier. He wasn’t musical or fashionable or humorous or frivolous, he’d had an utterly different upbringing and experiences, and he was already old when Jaskier was born. On another level, he shared his life with him; what they had in common was all their time together, and there had been so much more time with Jaskier than with Yennefer. Did it all just come down to exposure? Proximity? Comfortable habit?

What did he truly have in common with Yennefer? Magic, destiny, a painful youth? That evening after dinner she’d told him some stories about her training and how she thought it affected her, affected how she might be with Ciri. He’d held her hands and reassured her he knew she wouldn’t harm Ciri, that she was much more than what other people had tried to make of her, and she had smiled at him through a light mist of tears before pulling herself together. 

They had that in common, the fear of their own capacity for cruelty or callousness, rising and falling in the balance with their belief that they could do better than they had been done by. He had long since decided that there was a difference between things that had been done _for_ him and things that had been done _to_ him, although by the same people, and he would never be ungrateful for the _for,_ the teaching and guidance and somewhere to belong, but he would never forget the _to_ and he never wanted to do such things to anyone else. That was how he had to think of it, when it was necessary, to be able to get on with life. He’d been taught that things like pain and fear didn’t matter or could be overcome, at least endured, but there was a big difference between requiring that of himself and expecting it of anyone else. 

He knew the whole thing was riddled with contradictions. He could simultaneously think Jaskier was a ridiculous whiny baby when he got injured and be adamant that if anyone dared injure him on purpose, he would kill them. As a philosophy of life it was like a garment that had been repaired so many times it was more patches and darns than the original cloth, and still had holes. It was his, though, and he wore it. 

_And it’s telling,_ he thought, _that I’m lying here trying to sort out how I feel about her and I drift back to thinking about him._

_It’s not that I don’t love her or feel passion for her. It’s not that I’m incapable of loving someone, after all. And I don’t want to feel all these doubts when we’re finally finding an arrangement that might work. Jaskier would probably say I’m just worrying because I don’t think I deserve this. They’re both rather shrewd about the things I worry about instead of what I’m truly worried about. And Jaskier would most definitely say to stop fussing and enjoy my beautiful girlfriend and gorgeous boyfriend, and he’d probably be right._

Yennefer sighed in her sleep and rolled away from him, curling up on her side, self-contained like a cat. After a moment he turned on his side to spoon up behind her, resting one hand on her hip. 

_Maybe I just hit the nail on the head today when I told him I’m in love with her but we’re not friends. He’s my friend_ and _I’m in love with him, and they’re becoming friends but not falling in love._

 _Was he just being fanciful today when he talked about marrying me? Obviously he_ was _being fanciful because we can’t, but_ only _fanciful or also sincere? Why does that surprise me so much when he’s often talked about wanting to be with me for the rest of his life? I suppose it just sounds more serious. He was only joking about changing his name, of course._

_How strange it is that Jaskier, the noted wandering slut, is so keen to talk to me about getting married and living with him in Oxenfurt all winter._

_There have been years I couldn’t get back to Kaer Morhen before, for one reason or another, but never just because I had a more attractive offer._

_Oxenfurt isn’t attractive but he is. Given the general “don’t fuck it up and lose him” sentiment would they even_ tell _me to go with him? And that way I would be with Yen too, she would be much happier in a city than travelling with me. And Ciri could settle for a bit longer, with a good disguise, and make some more lasting friends and perhaps get a little bit of normal girlhood, whatever that’s meant to be like, but it’s almost certainly not playing five-finger-fillet after dinner with witchers. If I can give both of them that, shouldn’t I?_

And that, it seemed to him, would justify it, when the thought “I would like to find out, after all these years, what it’s like to live in a house with your family,” did not. It all still depended on Jaskier and whether this “I’d like to teach again” mood stuck or was just a passing fancy, and of course whether he was right that the college would always want him back. He knew that, but he was unaccountably imagining a house outside the city itself with its noise and its stinks and its _students,_ with a decent stable, with a bit of garden or even, if Jaskier was lavish, a little glasshouse where he could grow plants useful for potions. A room for Ciri, maybe with a window seat, she had liked that. Yen would probably like a room of her own too, even if she only used it for her wardrobe. A bathroom up to Jaskier’s demanding standards. A bedroom with the kind of large, soft, warm bed that would spoil him totally for real life, defined as a bedroll on the ground under the stars.

If Jaskier didn’t really want to settle for the winter in Oxenfurt, now he was going to be disappointed, something he would not have believed if told.

_I should really try to think of some of the reasons against it. The smells, the noise, the crowds. He’ll probably want to introduce me to his friends. Some of them could be okay but there are bound to be more that annoy me. Most people annoy me, if I’m honest. He might want me to go to parties with him. Or worse, have them at our house. He’d insist on bathing me and brushing my hair and dressing me up and no I’m not looking forward to that._

_And there would be the usual run of people who would find me repellent and unnerving, and the other run of people who would want to get into my pants just to find out what was in them, and the “fuck me like an animal, you brute” lot, and the “I bet you’re not so tough, arm-wrestle me” idiots, followed by the “you bastard, you broke my arm” crowd… but I’ll have Yen and I bet she’ll be really entertainingly bitchy about them. I love what a scurrilous bitch she can be. The two of us lurking around drinking and mocking the rest of the party to each other could have quite a good time… but then I know Jaskier would come up and want me to dance with him or something, and stupid as I’d feel, I think I would._

He drifted into sleep on that thought.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really just a chapterlet, as I fear I may be running out of steam on this story (I have a conclusion in mind, I'm just not sure how to get to it, also my brain got at least half taken over by a new ship and while Dincobb and Geraskier can co-exist peacefully they are competing for very limited resources) and just in case that's what happens, I want to leave them in a nice spot rather than abandon them in midstream the way I've done to most of my fanfics.

They spent one more day in the town, making preparations for the journey away. Ciri went to say goodbye to her new friends and came back teary-eyed but seemingly contented, since they’d acted out an elaborate parting scene as the knight set out on a quest that would take her far, far away but solemnly swore that she would return to her princesses one day. 

“I don’t know if I really will, of course,” she said to Jaskier as they repacked the caravan, which as always when they stayed in one place for a few days had become vaguely chaotic, “but it felt good to say it and it made them happy.”

“Truly you are my daughter,” he said with a little puff of pride. 

“Are you sure you should be encouraging this?” Yennefer asked. She was sitting up on Ciri’s bunk supervising. Jaskier was more or less resigned to the fact that she would do no work she didn’t want to, and that the lavender-black suit was hers now. “Ciri, it’s a good rule of thumb when it comes to girls: if Jaskier would do it, don’t.”

“Poppycock!” Jaskier exclaimed. “Leaving someone with a bit more of a promise than you can actually keep, but which will not make any difference to them in the long run, is entirely benign. If she sees them again, she kept it, and if she doesn’t, they can always go on believing she eventually will. No harm done. Do you have a paternal ruling on this, Geralt?”

Geralt, who was sitting on the steps just outside doing something to a sword with a whetstone, said, “Well, funnily enough people have tended to see my promises to return as more of a threat.”

“Yes, but that’s just because they’re ungrateful bastards,” said Jaskier. “Your friends are happy to hear you mean to come back.”

“I don’t usually make that sort of promise to my friends.”

“You’ve promised  _ me. _ But then I’m exceptional and dear to your heart.”

“Anyway, it was all pretend, wasn’t it?” Geralt turned to look into the caravan. “I don’t always understand these things, but it’s not as if you gave  _ your _ word; it was the knight promising the princesses. Just in… fun.” His tone was a little beseeching. He’d apologised to Ciri and she’d accepted it, but he was plainly still feeling guilty and trying to be nicer to compensate. 

“Yes, of course. I didn’t say ‘I,  _ Fiona _ , pledge et cetera.’ I hope I do get to come back though. Maybe next summer?”

“Typically takes three to four years for the vampire population to regenerate to the point where they get bold,” said Geralt, then added as an afterthought, “No reason not to check.”

_ The white wolf witcher proposes to alter his epic path… to ensure his daughter can play with her friends. I love how she’s softened him, _ Jaskier thought. He wasn’t too sure Ciri would still want the same this time next year, but he’d found the whole knight-and-princesses thing very charming. It seemed like a good break from reality for her; she had had entirely too much of it for her age. 

They had an uneventful descent from the mountains, travelling through a high pass and down the other side, enlivened only by the time a night-gaunt tried to carry Jaskier off when he got up for a pee in the early hours, in the pine barrens on the foothills. He naturally yelled his head off in the expectation of rescue, but also had the presence of mind to try to make things difficult for it. Perhaps unfortunately, the way he instinctively did this was by attempting to grab its privates. This established two things; a night-gaunt, or this night-gaunt, had horrible leathery dangly balls, and when they were crushed in the grip of a panicked hand, it would vomit on you. The night-gaunt was already having a very bad night when Geralt, still half asleep, threw a sword through it and pinned it to a tree. Jaskier fell to the bottom, landed awkwardly and rolled his ankle, then realised that he no longer needed to pee; the dam had burst. He was now, he thought, having a worse night than the night-gaunt, whose night was very finally over. 

“I  _ hate _ outdoors!” he burst out as Geralt came over to check on him and retrieve his sword. 

“Let’s see the damage,” said Geralt, practically. 

“I’m covered in  _ sick _ and  _ piss _ and my  _ leg  _ is _ broken,” _ Jaskier did not whimper but came very close to whimpering as Geralt felt his ankle. At one point the investigation was painful enough that he couldn’t speak, only breathed in very sharply through his nose and felt light-headed. 

“No, it isn’t,” said Geralt, and quite mercilessly slit the leg of his trousers up to the knee with a pocketknife. “It’s sprained, and it’s going to swell up, so I’m going to move you back by the fire, wrap it up, prop it up and put a cold compress on it. What the fuck did you do to make it puke on you?”

“I yanked on its balls like a bell-pull. Mistake.”

“It lost height and it was a lot easier to hit that way. Not completely useless,” Geralt said, hoisting him up to his feet, or foot, and supporting him to hop back to their bedroll. 

“Oh, well thank you — shit! Ow ow ow ow.” He had put his weight on the hurt ankle for a moment by mistake. “Fuck me, I feel like a poor little thing. Is night-gaunt spew  _ very _ toxic?”

“Did you get any in your eyes, nose or mouth?”

“No, it went down the back of my head and neck. It’s all in my hair and inside my shirt,” Jaskier lamented. 

“You stink, but you’ll live. And once I strip it down for parts, a night-gaunt can be fairly useful. Stay put and keep it elevated while I get the medicine chest.” He went off, leaving Jaskier with his foot propped up on a chunk of firewood. He felt inclined to have a pout about it. Whenever he got hurt, he supposed Geralt showed he cared by promptly and efficiently taking care of the injury, but he was always so brisk and not a bit sympathetic. Everything he was doing was correct and helpful, but there wouldn’t be any soothing. He could hardly see, because there was no moon tonight and the campfire was banked so it provided only a slight ember glow, but he morosely imagined the lurid colours his ankle would be turning. It was some distraction from the revolting smell, like week-old offal. His wet pants were getting cold now, too. He hadn’t got his cock out properly before the night-gaunt swooped down so he’d panic-weed right down his legs. What a  _ stupid  _ night. 

He could hear faint gibbering from the trees. Hopefully any other night-gaunts in the vicinity were bright enough to take their companion’s death as a warning. Geralt was coming back from the caravan, wooden box under his arm. 

“Your luck’s changed,” he told Jaskier. “Yen woke up while I was getting it and asked what happened. She had a good laugh about you pissing your pants and said we could use the fuck tent as a field hospital.”

“Oh, bless her mean little heart,” Jaskier said fervently. He was curious to see that apparently it didn’t have to be Yen who set up the tent; he’d had the impression it did, but Geralt just dropped the handkerchief the same way she would and it popped up. He helped Jaskier to hop in, briskly got him out of his clothes, which unfortunately meant cutting the leg of the pants up to the waist because the ankle was already too swollen and stiff to pull them down over it, and stuck him in the bath with his foot propped up on the rim. 

“There,” he said, and proceeded to very firmly bandage the ankle while Jaskier was repeatedly dunking his head until his hair felt unmatted again. It was a huge relief, although the hot water also stung the thin curving scratches the monster’s claws had left on his ribcage and back.

“Why don’t we just put this thing up every time we make camp?” he asked, wiping water from his eyes. “Surely it’s more sensible than you and me sleeping in the open every night it doesn’t rain, or crowding in with the girls when it does.”

“She doesn’t want you taking it for granted, I bet,” said Geralt, sitting down beside the tub. “You can have a good sleep in here tonight, though.”

“With my maimed ankle throbbing with pain,” Jaskier said gloomily. 

“Why not be grateful you’re safe and sound to feel it throbbing, rather than the infinitely worse pain of being eaten alive, guts first, in a night-gaunt’s nest?” Geralt asked sharply. 

“Honestly? Because I can’t imagine that sort of pain other than to think gosh, it would be terrible, so it’s not real to me, but this is.” Jaskier paused and thought a moment. “But in my distress I  _ have  _ been a bit remiss in expressing gratitude. Come here a moment.” He hooked a finger into Geralt’s silver chain to pull him closer and look into his eyes. “You rescued me from a terrible fate. I was scared but I never doubted you would. You were brave and strong and wonderfully lethal. You are my hero, and I love you. Thank you.” 

He was going to kiss Geralt, but saw he was frowning a little, glancing away. “You don’t have to take the piss,” he said. 

“What do you think I’m making fun of?” Jaskier asked, twisting the chain around his finger. 

“Me trying to be a big fucking hero.”

“You don’t try, you  _ are,  _ and if you’ll look me in the eye you’ll see I meant exactly what I said.”

Geralt’s eyes met his again, and after a moment the frown cleared. “It’s a filthy old world,” he said, “and stories about heroes don’t tend to focus on the vomit and piss side of things. That still never seems to sink in with you.”

“It sank in years ago. I  _ get _ it. I just don’t  _ care. _ You are my hero, my big fucking hero, and I will appreciate you relentlessly, and gaze at you with shining eyes. Just like this.”

The corner of Geralt’s mouth moved. 

“You were going to smile,” Jaskier pointed out. 

He kissed him instead, and gently bit his lower lip. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Shining eyes, shining eyes. Can’t help it. Now you’re actually smiling. I love to see that. You’ve actually taken my mind off my sore ankle. And near-death experience, but as noted, the sore ankle is really present in my mind.”

“Then you should get out of the bath and put it up again.”

“I just want to wash my hair properly. Could you be even more heroic and scrub my back? I’m sure you love me enough to sleep next to me even if I do smell faintly of monster sick, but why should you?”

Before long, he was lying in bed feeling decently clean, with his foot up on the medicine box with a pillow on top, and Geralt had done some sort of interesting witchering to the bandage so that it got soothingly cold and stayed that way. 

“Why don’t you do that on your own sprains and bruises?” Jaskier asked. 

“I heal better than you so I don’t need it that much,” Geralt said, curling around him. “Go to sleep. I’ve got a carcass to break down in the morning.”

“We should sleep in here every night, we really should.”

“Go to sleep,” Geralt repeated, his voice calm and deep and quite soporific. 

So, Jaskier was limping for a couple of weeks, had lost yet another pair of trousers, and was once again reduced to Geralt’s backup pair that were always in danger of collapse, particularly as Geralt’s aggressively curved backside and thighs meant he wore thin patches and holes into unusual spots. The night-gaunt proved to have a truly horrible trichobezoar in its stomach which Geralt was excited about (Jaskier did not want to know what he was planning to use it for) and provided an interesting practical monster anatomy lecture for Ciri, who exhibited horrified fascination at first, then simply a lot of practical interest. 

“Makes sense in a way,” Jaskier remarked to Yennefer, sitting on the steps with his foot up, safely upwind and distant from the smell. “Her grandmother was a very bloodthirsty woman — don’t haunt me, Calanthe, it’s just the truth.”

“I always prefer it when these ingredients have been prepared, dried, pickled and packaged for me,” said Yennefer. “Will I rummage through a dead beast’s guts or brains to find something I need? Certainly. Must I, though?”

“You’re a sensible woman. One who appreciates the finer things. One who wouldn’t, say, withhold a simple luxury from —“

“You’re angling to take over my tent, aren’t you?”

“Not at all. I’m asking very sweetly and nicely to borrow it while always respecting that it is yours.” He put his chin in his hands and fluttered his eyelashes at her winsomely. “Besides, isn’t it more convenient all round to pop it up and be able to go in and out when you like?”

“I rather thought Geralt wanted it to be a secret — you know how uptight he gets about Ciri knowing adult things.”

“Hah, because he told  _ me  _ he thought  _ you _ didn’t want me taking it for granted.”

“Well, I don’t, but if I don’t need to spare  _ his _ feelings then yes, I’d much rather have it out. If she asks why she hasn’t seen it before, I’ve just finished making it. And I might just lock the bedside drawer, I think.”

“That  _ might _ be wise. I mean, there’s nothing intrinsically fucky about the tent. I don’t pretend to understand how you enchanted it to self-clean, but it’s always fresh as a daisy when we go back in.”

“Temporal distortion. It actually just returns to its state before you made it dirty.”

“Still don’t remotely understand, think you’re wonderfully clever. Gods, Yen, we’re all going to smell so much better. It’s the best of all possible worlds. The freedom and spontaneity of the open road, the mystery and romance of never knowing what or who may be around the next corner, able to follow my big old feral thing of a man wherever he may go,  _ but also _ a deep hot bath and clean sheets at the end of the day. Once we hit a decent-sized town — even if that’s not till good old Ox — and I can get new clothes, I will be my most radiant self again.”

“I think he actually likes you better as you are now,” said Yennefer.

“What do you mean?” Jaskier asked, genuinely puzzled. “Lame?”

“No, you know, cute and scruffy. Wearing his clothes. He’s definitely the sort of man who has a thing about you wearing his clothes. I have proven this with one of his shirts,” Yennefer said with a small reminiscent smile.

“Yennefest, are you sure —”

“What?”

“Yennefest. It’s a superlative. Yennef, Yennef _ er,  _ Yennef _ est.” _

“Reconsider.” She stared him down.

“All right, dearest Yen, are you sure this wasn’t just because you were, in point of fact, a pretty lady wearing nothing  _ but _ a shirt? Rather a big shirt which would be loose and roomy on you and slip off your slim golden-brown shoulders in a beguiling fashion, hinting at the delicate curves beneath?”

“Trust me, hoppity, I have sufficient experience to judge.”

“He likes you wearing  _ my _ clothes too. His ears went red the first time he saw you in my lavender suit. Red ears on Geralt indicate  _ intense _ emotion. Maybe he just likes girls in boys’ clothes generally.”

“Test it. Surprise him in just his shirt and see how fast you get jumped.”

“Well, I don’t want him to jump me  _ now, _ he’s bloody to the elbows and apparently chasing Ciri with an eyeball.”

“Maybe if you stole his shirt he’d smack your bottom,” Yennefer suggested, with a coy smile. 

“I might just wait on that until I can stand unassisted, but it  _ is _ very appealing.” 

At this point they had to drop the conversation because Ciri, shrieking and giggling, raced up and tried to hide behind them. She was filthy and both of them sprang away from her, Jaskier with much less agility, but she cried out, “Dear Father, defend me!” so he felt he had to try to intercede between her and Geralt, who was also laughing, rather remarkably and endearingly. 

“I don’t understand what you’re doing but it looks very silly,” he said, holding his arms out like a T to try to give some cover to Ciri as she dodged from side to side behind him, Geralt attempting, apparently, to dab the eyeball on her somehow. “Injured as I am, I must stand to protect our darling daughter from your villainy.”

“Oh, so you’ll take one for her, will you?”

“If I must.”

“Right then. Give us your hand.” He slapped the eyeball into Jaskier’s palm, where it felt horribly sticky and somehow quite gritty. “There. I’ve got my eye on you.” He turned and walked away. “That’s all I wanted.”

“It’s not even your eye!” Ciri said indignantly. 

“For fuck’s sake,” Jaskier lamented to Geralt, who was bowing to Yennefer, who was giving him undeserved applause. Jaskier threw the eyeball at him in retaliation, quite poorly (a dangling stem of optic nerve meant it wasn’t very aerodynamic) and Geralt caught it without looking, then smirked at him. “You are the grossest man I’ve ever been in love with,” Jaskier said. He grabbed Ciri’s shoulder and leant on her, since his ankle strongly objected to being even lightly stood on.

“Do you dare me to eat it?” Geralt suggested. 

“You know what? Yes. Yes, I do. I’m calling your bluff. I dare you to eat that eyeball.”

“You do?” said Geralt. 

“I do. So there.”

“Bearing in mind that I kiss you with this mouth?”

“If I worried about what you’ve had in your mouth I’d never have let you kiss me in the first place.”

“Gross,” said Ciri. 

“He bites when he fights,” said Jaskier. “He’s a man of many dreadful habits.”

“All right,” said Geralt, and made as if to pop the eyeball in his mouth.

“No!” Jaskier exclaimed, aghast. 

“Knew it,” said Geralt smugly, and walked back to the carcass, tossing and catching the eyeball with one hand just to be annoying. 

“Well, Ciri, some children are frightened when they see their fathers in a rage,” said Jaskier, patting her shoulder. “You, however, have just seen something far more alarming: Geralt in a jolly mood.”

“How simply dreadful,” said Ciri with a mock shiver. 

“Do you want to see its brain?” Geralt called out, and she scampered off after him. 

“You were no help at all,” Jaskier told Yennefer, hobbling back to his seat and wiping his hand on the leg of his pants. 

“Of course not, I  _ like _ his silly jokes. I didn’t get a father who told  _ me _ jokes or showed me things just because he thought I’d be interested in them, so I like seeing him do those things. It’s a rare touch of sentimentality that I allow myself.”

“Would you have  _ liked _ to be shown a night-gaunt’s brain, though?”

“Not that specifically, no.”

“To each their own, and all that.” He wanted to ask, but thought it would be both prying and rather unkind, whether she thought about Geralt a lot in those terms because if they were both capable she would want him to father her children, or whether it was just another endearing thing about him to her. He was selfishly glad that it would never be on the table. The thought of Geralt having children with someone else gave him a particularly unpleasant and unreasonable little gut-clench of jealousy. It was silly to think of that. It was never going to happen, and it was a nice day. 

The days continued to be nice, allowing for the fact that there were monsters in them. As far as Jaskier was concerned, the permanent addition of the tent to their campsite (he really had to break himself of calling it the fuck tent) was a huge improvement. He got to sleep in soft plush comfort and when Geralt came back from a hunt covered in nameless innards he was next to no trouble to clean up. Also, the housewifely side of him appreciated being able to wash shirts and suchlike in it. Everything so washed smelled lightly of lilacs and that was very civilised. Geralt had expressed a minor worry that Ciri would feel hard done by, not getting to sleep in the tent herself, but in fact she was delighted to hear that the rest of them would be moving out and she would have space and privacy with the caravan to herself. 

“It’s like having my own room again, or better, my own little house,” she said. “So much more peaceful! No offence, but I’m sick of the nocturnal farting.”

“Yennefer,” said Jaskier sternly, and she kicked him in the unsprained ankle. 

“I don’t know which of you it is, but it’s one of you. Or both of you,” said Ciri in tones of dark suspicion. “It definitely predated Yen joining us.”

“Bards don’t fart. It’s not musical,” said Jaskier firmly. 

“Witchers don’t fart. Our digestive systems are too efficient,” said Geralt.

“So you each blame the other?”

“Goodness, no. I believe Geralt.”

“Jaskier wouldn’t lie about music.”

“Perhaps you heard something farting  _ outside  _ the caravan,” Jaskier suggested.

“Yes, have you considered that? Some nocturnal monsters are extremely flatulent,” Geralt added, backing him up loyally.

“Get out of my house,” said Ciri. 

“Psst.” Jaskier nudged Geralt, who he was pretty sure was nearly asleep, but he didn’t want to save what he had to say until morning. He was fairly sure he could gently disturb him without disturbing Yennefer, who was curled up on the other side and didn’t take kindly to disturbed sleep. 

“Hrm?” Geralt opened one eye and glanced his way. 

“I need to tell you,” Jaskier whispered. 

“Mmhm.”

“I think this summer I am the happiest I can remember being. I wanted you to know.”

Geralt opened both eyes and frowned a little in the semi-darkness. “Happier than when we were first together?” he asked. 

“Yes. Because I still have all of that happiness and more new reasons to be happy on top of it.”

“Ah.” Geralt tilted his head a little and kissed him, softly and slowly, his tongue slipping between his lips. 

“Mmm…” He snuggled closer and wrapped one of his legs over Geralt’s. “That’s all. Just wanted you to know.”

“You make me happier than I ever thought I’d be. You and them, but I wouldn’t have them without you.”

“Say you love me,” Jaskier sighed. 

“You know I love you.”

“Pretend I’m not sure.”

“I love you.”

“I know.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter in which Geralt is almost ludicrously submissive and Jaskier enjoys saying filthy things, and finally, an ending.

It was nearly midsummer, and they were well down into the valley, in an area where the pine forests had thinned out and there were fields and farms and the occasional market town near a manor house or a small castle. There were poppies nodding in the fields and dogroses in the hedgerows, and the sunsets crept later and later.

“Ankle’s better,” said Jaskier, doing a saucy little dance to celebrate. “I will frolic on Midsummer Eve. If we can find anyone to frolic with. Would you frolic?”

Geralt, who was sitting in the bath to oblige him despite having done nothing particularly dirty that day, looked at him sideways. He had been thinking it would be quite a pleasant evening alone together, since Yennefer and Ciri were having one of their “sit up all night and talk about magic and chaos and other things that girls like” sessions in the caravan, but he wasn’t game for any talk of frolicking. The little dance was fine as long as he was only required to watch it.

“It’s all right,” said Jaskier, still dancing, “I don’t expect it of you. When a fellow fights and fucks as well as you do, what need has he of frolicking? Rhetorical question. What need have you of those either? As much need as I have of oh, let’s say my shirt.” He finished off by twirling around and striking a jaunty pose.

“Which is my shirt,” Geralt pointed out. He hadn’t minded Jaskier wearing it today, it was nice to think that the linen that usually touched his skin was touching Jaskier’s, as if it were a way of keeping contact between them, but he wasn’t going to let him take it over entirely, given that Geralt only owned two shirts and while Jaskier had several more, they were tight in the chest and all had lace edges to the collars and billowy sleeves that he felt stupid in, so he didn’t want to borrow them in return.

“Good point. So I do need it, because it reminds me pleasingly of you.”

“You don’t need to be reminded,” Geralt said patiently. “I’m sitting here, bollock naked, waiting for you to finish your healed ankle dance and join me.”

“What a lucky man I am,” said Jaskier. “Two sound ankles and a clean boyfriend. Two seconds, love.” He whipped off his pants and climbed into the tub.

“You’re forgetting something,” said Geralt, nodding at the now soaked black shirt.

“Well, does it affect you differently when it’s wet and clingy?” Jaskier said hopefully.

“You’re wet and clingy,” said Geralt, amused. “Are you trying to do something?”

“Yen and I had a bet you’d be titillated by me wearing your shirt. Alas, I won; I said not.” Jaskier turned around and scooted back to sit between Geralt’s legs, leaning against his chest, and pouted. 

“Don’t sulk,” said Geralt. “Look where you are.” He slid his hand into the loose neck of the shirt to rub Jaskier’s chest and ruffle his fingers through the hair.

 _“That’s_ what I wear that you like, isn’t it?” Jaskier asked, sounding pleased with himself. “The old hair shirt.”

“And you still wear it when you’re naked.”

“So that’s very convenient!”

“Feel better?”

“Much.” He smiled contentedly, his eyes creasing closed. “I told her, you were all atwitter for her in the shirt because it’s masculine clothes on a feminine figure. You just don’t get the same kind of spicy contrast on me.”

“I like to see you wear it. It’s more of a warm feeling than a spicy one.”

“Oh?”

“Like I’ve got my arms around you even when I haven’t.” He folded his arms around Jaskier’s shoulders and chest and gave him a gentle squeeze.

“Geralt, that is one of the most sentimental things I’ve ever heard you say, and I am going to remember it. Sometimes you will see me smirk for no reason, and you’ll know I’m remembering it then.”

“You often smirk for no reason.”

“I have a lot of nice sentimental memories. I’ll think of one now.” He smirked faintly. “Which one do you think it was?”

“I don’t know. Something filthy?” Geralt felt quite amenable to it being filthy.

“No, it was when I woke up our first morning at Kaer Morhen with a cold I hadn’t realised I was getting, and you sort of grunted ‘Stay there’ and shuffled off and came back with a mug of hot honey and lemon for me, and I was like ‘Where did you find a _lemon?’_ and you just made a vague noise and snuggled down next to me and held me while I drank it because you didn’t actually want to be up yet but you _got_ up because you wanted to look after me.”

“Oh yes,” said Geralt. He hadn’t realised that was memorable. He’d been in a strange mood that morning which made slightly more sense to him now, his throat slightly sore from being fucked and feeling proud and ashamed all at once each time he swallowed and felt it again, and he had just wanted to stay in bed with Jaskier all day, to hold him and be held. 

“You don’t get colds, so how did you know what to make for me?” Jaskier asked. 

“Oh, you know, you hear people talk and pick things up,” Geralt said, but then added, with a little hesitation, “When I was a child and still lived with my mother, and I had a cold, she made me hot honey and lemon drinks. That’s one thing I can remember.”

Jaskier turned his head and kissed his cheek. “Love you an awful lot, Geralt,” he said, then settled back against him.

“You don’t have any questions about that?” Geralt asked. He’d been afraid Jaskier would and that he wouldn’t know how to answer them and that trying would get him into a bad mood, but he’d still wanted to share that much. 

“Honestly? I feel some curiosity, but I also don’t want to hear about someone I already don’t like. It’s one of those messy, I can never approve of what she did, but if she didn’t do it I wouldn’t have the man I love most in all the world because you’d surely have died before I was born, but still how could she, but maybe there was a compelling reason I don’t understand, and she’s not here to explain herself, and it’s not fair to ask you to explain and to either defend or condemn her, type things. I would prefer just to imagine dear little Geralt with a sniffle drinking his hot honey and lemon and feeling a bit better, and stop there.”

“That’ll do,” Geralt said quietly, and gave him another slight squeeze.

“Want a subject change?” Jaskier asked. 

“Thanks.”

“I won’t whine if the answer’s no, but it feels worth asking you again. Would you like to consider growing a short beard?”

“I can’t remember you asking me a first time.”

“It was ages ago. You didn’t like the idea then.”

“I can’t remember that either. How long ago?”

“It must be a couple of years now, so I thought perhaps you’d had time to change your mind.”

“Wait, was this not long after we got together and you claimed it would make people swoon and call me Daddy?”

“That’s the bunny. You didn’t want to do it.”

“I didn’t want all and sundry calling me Daddy. Not that I actually think anyone would, but that was the part I was saying no to, not the beard itself. You dropped it and I didn’t think of it again. I’d grow one if you liked it, provided Yen’s on board too.”

“Superb, thank you. What’s your objection to Daddy?”

“That I’m not their daddy.”

“Who’s they?”

“All and sundry. Whatever random swooning strangers you had in mind.”

“So you don’t want _strangers_ to call you Daddy?”

“What are you getting at, Jaskier?”

“Nothing in particular,” Jaskier said. Geralt pinched his nipple. “Ow! Dick.”

“You’re not usually backward in coming forward.”

“Okay, all right, don’t pinch.”

“You pricked up when I pinched,” Geralt pointed out, rubbing the stiff bud more gently. It was fairly obvious what Jaskier wanted, but it was funnier if he had to admit it when, for some unclear reason, he was embarrassed about it. 

“So the beard is agreed pending Yen’s approval, that’s nice, that’s very nice. You’ll be a bit scratchy while it grows in, but it’ll soften soon enough, and I for one think you will look outrageously handsome.”

“I for one think you are babbling.”

 _“I_ for one think you are playing with my nipple when I’m trying to have a sensible conversation with you.”

“Sorry, I misread your tone.” He folded his arms across Jaskier’s chest again and sat quietly, smugly enjoying his agitated heartbeat.

“You are toying with me, of course,” Jaskier said after a little while.

“Of course. But if you’re still after a sensible conversation, could you explain to me in a sensible way what calling someone Daddy would signify to you?”

“Well, uh…” Jaskier cleared his throat and shifted his weight. “I don’t want to give you the wrong idea.”

“I have no ideas so far.”

“Well, for me Daddy would mean someone dominant, powerful, _strict…_ who makes me feel very safe and protected and loved at the same time. Who, you know, takes me very firmly in hand. The way I need, because —”

“According to Yen, you’re a naughty boy.”

Jaskier cleared his throat again. “Yes, but you know, in context I think I would prefer… _brat_ or maybe _little shit.”_

“But you’d feel loved by that?” He’d feel more confident himself saying that than “naughty boy.”

“With the right person.”

“Well, if you find him —”

“Don’t fuck around, Geralt, obviously I mean you.”

“I’m glad you admitted it.” He gave Jaskier another squeeze and kissed the back of his neck. “Didn’t feel like shaking it out of you.”

“Well, that’s... encouraging.”

“This feels like something you’ve been leading up to.”

“Not in a planned way.”

“You’re not one of life’s planners.” He pressed another kiss to Jaskier’s nape, parting his lips to lick softly, feeling the prickle of short-cropped hair and tasting a trace of salt. “But it won’t really do it for you until I’ve got the beard, is that right?”

Jaskier gave a little snort of laughter. “The beard is just an outward adornment, true daddiness comes from within.”

“You think I have that?”

“You have buckets of that.”

“Have you had someone do this for you before?”

“Yes, but no one who feels as perfect in the role as you, so I’m both really excited for it and really nervous.”

Geralt felt nervous too, but that didn’t seem like something he should admit when Jaskier clearly wanted him to be very authoritative. He did feel he had to check one thing or it wouldn’t leave him alone. “And you don’t think this clashes with my good-boy thing?”

“Oh, they’re just different roles that you can play at different times,” said Jaskier. “If you mean, would having seen you and been with you when you’re in your good-boy mood stop me seeing you as Daddy or spoil it for me, no, definitely not. Would it make it too difficult for you to accept me teasing you and praising you if you also needed to discipline me at other times?”

“I don’t see how. They’re other times.”

“Exactly.” Jaskier tipped back his head to see Geralt’s face. “Can I ask about that, though? After you got upset about it, you said that you wanted to play that game again, but you haven’t asked to since. Have you been wanting to but not saying so, or just not wanting to yet?”

Geralt shifted uncomfortably, although both the warm water and Jaskier’s body resting against his had been making him feel deeply comfortable and relaxed. “We’ve done that. You asked me if it was okay to call me your good boy again, I said it was, and you do it all the time.” At least, all the time when he and Jaskier were alone, whether because Yen spent a night, like tonight, with Ciri, or because they got up to something furtive in a quiet spot during the day. Whispers of “Can you keep quiet while I do this? Oh, you’re _such_ a good boy” had been driving him wild. He’d unintentionally bitten his own forearm trying to stifle his moans during a hasty fuck bent over a fallen tree trunk the afternoon before. He could still see a faint pink imprint of his teeth on the arm crossing Jaskier’s chest now, and it made his cock stir. 

“I meant with me and Yen together. You’ve been concentrating on pleasing both of us and I don’t mind that at _all,_ believe me — and there have been a few nights when you were too tired or beaten-up, obviously, that’s a different matter. I just hope you know you can ask for it any time you want it. You have two people who love you and _want_ to spoil you. So don’t go thinking you’re being too demanding or something. After all, I’m a musician, so I believe Every Good Boy _Deserves_ Favour.”

“What?” He’d been listening, although he was still thinking about yesterday and the fevered state he’d been in, and now Jaskier seemed to be talking nonsense. 

“It’s a mnemonic for the notes of the treble clef. Something you learn as a kid. Would also consider Fun and Fucking as the F word. Obviously you deserve both, in lavish quantities.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh. So if you want any Fs, say the word.”

“Didn’t you want me to be Daddy tonight?”

“You know, I think I just want to talk about it tonight and follow through later. We need to plan it. I’m getting a subtle hint, nudging against my back, that you’re in more of a good-boy mood.”

“But when you’re asking for what you want —“

“I want this too. You know I want every-bloody-thing.” He sat up, turned round and knelt in front of Geralt, pushing his knees in under his legs, making the warm water splash and ripple against his chest, and looked into his eyes. “Did you start getting hard because I just reminded you of the game?”

“I was thinking of yesterday.”

“Oh, right!” Jaskier said, his eyes sparking. “When you got all restless and horny in the afternoon and kept giving me soulful looks like a dog in the doorway of a butcher’s shop. That was fun.”

“Like a dog?” Geralt repeated, mildly insulted. 

“Yes. You wanted a bone, didn’t you?”

“Fuck off,” said Geralt, and kissed him. 

“You did. Lucky for us checking your snares made an excuse to go off together, wasn’t it? And there are no words for how lucky I felt with you kissing me… dropping to your knees and sucking me… turning round and presenting for me… why were you so desperate?”

“I don’t know,” Geralt said. “It just happened. You gave me a flirty look and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. That, and you were eating those berries you found and your lips and fingers got stained all red, and it was just…” He trailed off uselessly. “Fuck.”

“You poor darling, just consumed by lust,” Jaskier said, beaming. “I know it’s so hard for you when you get like that. Did I make it feel better?”

Geralt raised his eyebrows. “What do you think?”

“Mmm, well, I think you made muffled noises indicative of a very high pitch of pleasure, and I think you rammed your arse back on my cock, and I think your whole body shook when you came, so yes, I think I made it feel _much_ better.” He kissed Geralt deeply, combing his fingers through his hair. “That’s what a good boy like you deserves. The pleasure, satisfaction, and relief of coming so hard your legs buckle.”

“Can we go to bed?” Geralt asked. 

“Oh, you think bed?”

“Bed would be good.”

“I want to ask you something, though.”

“Go on.”

“Tell me about how you were feeling.”

“Besides coming so hard my legs buckled?”

“Yes, how were you feeling about _yourself_ at that point?”

“Like… I couldn’t stop, and I might as well be a bitch in heat.”

“That must be an interesting way to feel. A little bit embarrassing?”

“Deeply ashamed, desperately turned on by how ashamed I am, and also perversely proud that I’m _good_ at it.”

Jaskier laughed delightedly. “How well you put it! Oh, I’m a dirty little slut, but I’m such a _good_ dirty little slut, look at me go.”

“Oh, I do _not_ want people to look at me in that state. Except you and Yen, of course.”

“And that is a privilege that I appreciate and enjoy _so_ much. You trust me enough to let me see everything. I remember early on you sometimes tried to hide your face when I was inside you — you just felt too vulnerable when you couldn’t hide what you were feeling, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Geralt admitted. 

“And now you look me in the eye when you say that, and you describe exactly how you feel about being fucked, and I am so very proud of you. And sometimes your resistance creeps back up a bit, because you’re a naturally stubborn man, but overcoming that stubbornness is its own reward, isn’t it, my love?” Jaskier’s voice was low and gentle and velvety, and he was close enough for Geralt to feel his breath tickle his lips. 

“Yes,” he said, and he could hear how husky his voice had gone, his throat feeling thick and his breath coming short. 

“Good boy,” Jaskier murmured, and kissed him. It was a long, slow, delicately probing kiss, or maybe a string of kisses, slipping his tongue between Geralt’s lips but withdrawing as he parted them, until he gave a humiliating low whine of frustrated need and Jaskier relented, pushing his tongue in and let Geralt suck it for a few sweet moments. 

“I want you to notice something else,” Jaskier said, drawing back with his face flushed and his eyes darkening. “Look at your arms. Hmm? On the sides of the bath, nice and passive, waiting to receive what you’re given. Now I’ll never scold you for wanting to touch me or put your arms around me, but I wanted to praise you for that. Well done, my darling.”

“Please,” Geralt tried to say, but Jaskier shook his head with a little smile. 

“We’re working on patience,” he said. “It’s very, very good to ask for what you want, but you’ve asked, and it’s time to wait patiently to receive.” He looked down between them and his smile grew. “After all, you’re only half hard. It’s sticking up but it’s nowhere near as big and stiff as it will get. Want me to play with it?”

“Yes.”

“Sure? It might be a bit of a tease.”

“I’ll just have to trust you.”

There were more kisses after that, which were very welcome, but Jaskier chose to tease him, first by only fanning his hand in the water _near_ his cock so it was stirred by little waves, then by skimming his fingertips over and up and down it until Geralt was half growling under his breath with impatience and gripping the sides of the tub to keep his hands to himself. 

“Your face is getting so red,” Jaskier said. “Are you all right? Want me to stop?”

_“No.”_

“Ohh, is the problem that I’m not going far _enough?”_ he asked, with big fake-innocent blue eyes. 

“Yes, for fuck’s sake.”

“Just relax. You know I’ll take care of you. Time for a good _rub,_ eh?” His hand wrapped snugly around Geralt’s shaft and stroked deftly, and Geralt’s head rocked back with a moan at the surge of pleasure. “Oh, yes, that’s what you need, I’m _terribly_ sorry I didn’t think of it before. So remiss; why would I _not_ think you needed your lovely thick hard cock rubbed? _So_ hard now.” He felt Jaskier’s tongue stroking his neck, from the collarbone to the tip of his chin, to the corner of his jaw, long, warm, wet strokes, and a nip at his earlobe, and the grip of his hand sliding smoothly up and down, and he melted into it. _“Good_ boy. Patience pays off, doesn’t it, my love? Are you going to come for me? Yes, I know you are. Oh, your sweet face! Don’t bite your lip too hard. That’s it, relax, relaaax. It feels _so_ good, doesn’t it?”

 _“Yes.”_ He could just about refrain from pumping his hips, but his buttocks were tensing and relaxing and he was very aware of his anus tingling and twitching in anticipation. He let Jaskier coax him along with kisses and honeyed words and clever turns of the wrist until it all came to a peak and he fell apart in shudders and spasms of joy. Then there were more kisses, and wet hands stroking his hair, and murmurs of praise and love, and he felt he was soaking in that as much as in the bath. 

Jaskier’s knees were killing him, and that was his own fault for choosing to kneel, he supposed, but it still seemed unfair. He was, after all, being exceptionally nice to Geralt, giving him a really prolonged and luxurious handjob that had clearly reduced him to a happy, loved-up state of jellification. After coming lavishly he was now lying back in a kind of trance of contentment, his broad chest still rising and falling with deep, slow breaths as he wound down. He looked utterly lovely. 

“Geralt? I think you’re dreaming a little bit,” Jaskier said. “Don’t fall asleep.”

“Sorry.” He made an effort and sat up a bit, but he still seemed drowsy. He gave Jaskier a silly little smile as if he were half-drunk. 

“And now you get what you asked for, both because it’s about time we were in bed and because my knees are _killing_ me from this position,” said Jaskier, and kissed him on the nose before getting up with a grunt of effort. “Ow, _fuck._ Love, you are staring and it’s tremendously gratifying.” He held out his hands to Geralt and helped him up, and chuckled as Geralt wrapped his arms around him and hugged him close, putting his head down on his shoulder. “There’s my clingy, cuddly boy. Don’t worry, I’m sticking close to you all night.” Geralt closed his eyes and breathed in the smells of Jaskier’s skin and Yen’s lilacs as Jaskier rubbed his back. “And can you feel how hard you’ve got me? You’re so beautiful when you come.”

“You’re beautiful,” Geralt mumbled against his neck. 

“You don’t often say that.”

“I think it a lot. You think it a lot too,” he added, and Jaskier felt his lips move against his neck as he smiled. 

“Funnily enough, I’d call me lots of nice things, cute, sexy, gorgeous, et cetera, but I feel like beautiful is reserved for amazing creatures like you. You look like some genius sculpted you in marble based on a dream. A wet dream, clearly, from which he woke up sticky but inspired. Come on, love, let’s get out and get dry.”

“Don’t want to,” Geralt mumbled, hugging him tighter. 

“Then you’re being exceptionally silly, because I cannot comfortably fuck you in this tub.”

“Oh,” said Geralt. He lifted his head, looking rather sheepish. 

“It’s the in-between step you don’t want to have to do, isn’t it? If you could skip to the part where you’re already in bed it would be different.”

“I feel stupid now.”

“Don’t! You just came so hard it’s no wonder your head is full of pink fluff. I find it quite endearing that you’ve gone a little bit dopey. Like you’re tipsy, but on _me.”_ Jaskier got him out of the bath and roughly dried off, slightly hampered by the fact Geralt was now getting his second wind and wanted to reciprocate, so he kept kissing him in a distracting and obstructive manner and trying to rub his cock. “Enough. You’re getting silly. I _love_ that you’re getting silly but good boys, my darling, good boys _listen.”_ He liked being indulgent and spoiling Geralt, and he thought he had probably worked himself into a somewhat vulnerable state of mind so he wasn’t about to really scold him, but he thought a little gentle chiding could make the praise that would follow taste sweeter, and then there was the kick of holding his hands and sternly asking, “Now, do you want to be a good boy for me?” and this huge, scarred mountain of a man meekly saying “Yes.”

“Perfect. Come on.” He turned Geralt around and walked him over to the bed, and guided him to bend over the side, pushed forward with his bottom tipped up. “Beautiful,” Jaskier said, stroking his back. “Beautiful, obedient, _sweet_ boy. Spread your legs for me. That’s perfect. You need to get fucked, don’t you? Tell me about it.” He slid his hand to Geralt’s bottom and pulled one buttock to the side with his thumb, appreciating the way his flushed pink anus twitched a little at the tug.

Geralt was lying with his arms doubled up under him, his head down. He turned it with an awkward flick, shaking his hair back from his blushing face, looking at Jaskier over his shoulder. “I don’t want to yet,” he said. 

“Oh? What do you want to do first?” Jaskier asked. 

“Suck you off.”

“Absolutely. That is an excellent idea and I’m so glad you suggested it.” He gave Geralt’s bottom a kiss on the cheek and hopped up to sit beside him. “Any time you like, my lovely.” 

Geralt slid to the floor, to his knees, and shuffled sideways to get between Jaskier’s legs. He gazed up at him, his eyes wide and dark, and Jaskier combed his fingers into his hair, stroking it back. Geralt’s eyes fell closed and he leaned into Jaskier’s hand, breathing in deeply through his nose. 

“Geralt? Open eyes for a moment, just so I’m sure you’re listening. I know you’re slipping down deep and it feels _really_ good and I’m going to let you enjoy it, but just quickly before your mouth’s too full, what are you going to do if you need a rest or it stops feeling good?”

Geralt clearly had to make an effort to focus, but he said clearly, “Tap on you three times.”

“And if I ask you if you’re all right, how do you tell me that yes, you are?”

That took him a moment longer, but his frown cleared and he said, “Show you my open hand.”

“All right. I think we should manage like that. And obviously if you look uncomfortable, I won’t wait for a tap to ask.” He thought he was going to have his work cut out for him to both look after Geralt and enjoy what he would do for him, but he was far too excited to have any serious doubts about it. “I think first I want to be softly licked all over, thank you. Base to tip, root to head. Oh, you do that _so_ well. You’ve developed a really lovely technique. I… ah… I’ve taught you well, but it makes such a difference to have a pupil who loves learning. Now suck the tip… and stroke the shaft. There… I love how your lips wrap around it. The prettiest sight.” Jaskier stroked Geralt’s cheek and tried very hard not to be entirely undone by the look in his eyes, earnest and loving and all blown-up pupils with just a rim of gold around them. The sweet wet sliding suction was so strong he had to breathe deeply and remind himself it wasn’t good form to just fuck Geralt’s mouth without warming up to it. Still looking up to him for his approval, Geralt was taking him deeper, swallowing steadily. “Are you okay doing that, my darling? Get your angle right, that’s half the trick of it. Oh, there… it slips down. Oh, love, you’re in your element, aren’t you?”

Geralt gave a kind of affirmative hum, and there was a flicker of pride in his eyes. 

“You feel good about that, don’t you? And you should. You’re sucking me beautifully. You’re giving in to your instinctive drive to be a greedy little slut and it _suits_ you, Geralt. That’s it, that’s it… there you are, all the way. You’re _amazing._ No gag reflex whatsoever. Holy _shit!”_ he exclaimed in delight as Geralt pulled back, his cheeks hollowing with suction, then pushed back down with a breathless grunt. “Oh, that’s so _good!_ Oh, I love you. Can you breathe all right?”

“Hrrmmm.”

“I think that’s a yes.” Geralt managed to nod a little, his head bobbing gently, before he resumed his deeper up-and down motion, over and over as Jaskier moaned and trembled with fierce pleasure. “You do know, don’t you, that pretty soon I’m going to come right down your throat? This feels incredible. You _look_ incredible. Your mouth and your throat feel so soft and wet and tight and — and you get off on thinking it’s like a cunt, right? That — that I’m using your throat like a cunt?”

Geralt, his face red and sweating, made a kind of strangled groan as he drove his head down again, pressing his nose hard into Jaskier’s belly and sucking and swallowing frantically. 

“Is that good?”

“Mmm!” Geralt held up one hand, fingers spread wide, before dropping it back to grip Jaskier’s hip. 

“Oh, well _done!_ Good boy, such a good boy remembering how to tell me you’re happy and you want more!” He stroked Geralt’s hair eagerly, rumpling it up. “I’m so proud of you, Geralt, you’re being _so_ good for me, you’re giving me everything I want. Thank you for sharing your lovely tight sucking cunt with me. I think it’s the nicest one I’ve ever fucked.”

Another groan, and Geralt’s face was going crimson. He was still sucking hard but seemed unable to move his head any more. His whole body was trembling. 

“Geralt, my darling?” Jaskier gathered Geralt’s hair into a loose bunch at the back of his head and held it firmly, letting him feel the tension on his scalp. “Do you like this?”

“Hmmgggh.” An open hand and pleading eyes turned up to him. 

“I really want to fuck your lovely little cunt a bit more, so if you’re having trouble moving now, would it be okay for me to hold your head and move it for you?”

This groan sounded agonised, but Geralt was pushing his palm against Jaskier’s chest, fingers stretched out emphatically. 

“Then I will, and you just tippy-tap if it’s too much for you, promise?”

“Mmmgh.”

“Here we go. Lifting you up… mmm… pushing you _down.”_ It was feeling too good for him to think of much more to say, and besides the sheer physical deliciousness he was deeply moved by how much Geralt trusted him to do this, and he fell back on a steady repetitive murmur of “Oh, such a nice little cunt, such a good boy.” Geralt’s muffled moans were only growing louder, and he was just a tiny bit worried about hurting his throat, but there was no sign of a tap and he wanted to trust that was right, because _oh_ it felt good and _oh_ Geralt was hot in this desperate state, and the crude smacking and slurping sounds he couldn’t help his mouth making were wonderfully dirty. “Oh, you’re so good, you’re being so brave, brave boy, just a little bit more, you can do it, here it comes, here it comes!” His cock gushed in Geralt’s mouth and he bent over hugging his head, gasping in delight. 

Once the blissful rush ebbed a bit, he straightened up, though what he really wanted was to flop back on the bed. However, he needed to take care of Geralt first, and it made him feel sort of important and trustworthy to have that duty. He wasn’t seriously worried about him physically because he was breathing very audibly, with occasional sniffling sounds. Emotionally he was probably in a bit of a delicate state. He was still sucking Jaskier’s cock, weakly now. 

“That’s enough now, my darling. You’ve done _so_ well, I’m so proud of my dirty boy. Let it go, we don’t want to make it sore.” He lifted Geralt’s head gently with his hands on his cheeks. Geralt looked dazed, but he lifted his own body enough to rest his arms on Jaskier’s thighs and looked up at him. His face was still deeply flushed, his eyes were glazed and wet and his mouth was slack and messy, a long strand of mixed spit and cum hanging from his lower lip. “Don’t you look beautiful?” Jaskier asked him softly, and kissed his forehead. “I’ve fucking wrecked you, and I love you so much.” He shifted down to kiss Geralt’s mouth and felt him responding with trembling lips. “Are you okay?” he asked, drawing back to look at him again. 

Geralt made a false start, then said “Yes,” rather faintly. 

“Does your throat hurt?”

“Mmhm,” Geralt said, and swallowed cautiously. “Not bad.”

“I would be surprised if it didn’t. Can you get up? I can’t lift you, but I can help you. Come on. That’s right. Up’s a daisy. Just lie down here, little flower, and have a rest.” He wrapped his arms tightly around Geralt and felt him snuggle in urgently, squeezing around his waist. They lay face to face with their legs twined together, Geralt a little lower so he could rest his cheek against Jaskier’s chest. Jaskier stroked his hair and his back, humming quietly. He expected Geralt to fall asleep pretty fast, but he didn’t; his arms stayed locked tight around him. “You all right, love?” he asked after a little while. 

“Can you still talk to me?” Geralt asked hoarsely. 

“Poor lamb, your throat sounds so sore. Of course I can. It’s me, I can always talk. What to say, though? I love you. I adore you. You’ve been just amazing. Did I give you what you wanted?”

“Mmhm.” Geralt sounded more contented now. 

“I’m going to let go of you just long enough to get you a nice soft towel and pull the covers up when I come back. All right? Love, let go, it’s just for a minute. Not even that.”

“No. I need you here. Please.” His voice cracked with urgency, the contentment falling into worry.

“Okay. Okay, it’s all right, I’ll stay right here. Sweetheart, you’re a bit shivery. I’m not going anywhere, I’m just using one arm to pull up the covers, all right? There we are. Bundle you up, though goodness knows it’s a warm night.” He hugged Geralt tightly. “Now everything’s all right, isn’t it?”

“Mmm.” Geralt had buried his face in Jaskier’s chest and it was a little while before the muffled answer came. “Don’t leave me down deep alone. I’m happy if you’re with me, not alone.”

“Oh, love, I’m sorry I didn’t understand that. I’m learning about it with you. It won’t happen again.” He wondered how long Geralt would need. He’d stay, of course, it would clearly mess Geralt up if he didn’t and that was the last thing he wanted, but it was a bit daunting going in not knowing. “I’m here and I’m staying. I just thought I might blot off some of the, well, the dribble? But all right, I know it doesn’t bother you like it would me to dry all sticky.” 

“Came all over myself too,” Geralt mumbled. 

“How? Your hands were up here the whole time.”

“That’s just what it did to me.”

“You came without any touching? That’s impressive, I only do that in dreams.”

“It feels like dreaming.”

“You were impressive all round, you know. I’m saying it a lot, but you made me so proud of you.”

“Thanks for saying all the cunt stuff,” Geralt muttered sheepishly.

Jaskier laughed and kissed the top of Geralt’s head. “My pleasure. I really did mean it. Seeing what it did to you was such fun. Like knowing an extremely dirty magic word. I can’t do magic but look what I _can_ do, eh? Eh?” He stroked Geralt’s hair and felt him smiling, his cheek pressed against his chest. “Made my little white chamomile into a blushing red rose.” Geralt gave a little snorting puff that ruffled his chest hair. “Yeah, no, that one didn’t work, did it? They can’t all be classics.” He rested his cheek on top of Geralt’s head. “Ah… precious boy, you deserve everything you want. Will you promise me one thing?”

“Mmhm.”

“If you wake up later and start to feel badly about any of this, wake me up and tell me. Don’t dwell on it alone. You promise?”

“I promise.”

“That’s my good boy.” He stroked Geralt’s hair and softly hummed again as he felt him gradually grow placid, relaxed, and heavy in his arms. For a while he affectionately rubbed one of his feet against Jaskier’s, then grew still as sleep stole over him. Jaskier lay contemplating his face, a little more visible now that his head had fallen back a bit. He looked so calm and sweet, albeit he still had some drying cum on his chin that also made him look fairly slutty. Jaskier blotted it off with a fold of the top sheet. There, that felt a bit more like he was taking proper care of him. He was feeling very deeply tender and protective towards Geralt, as if he might actually watch over him sleeping all night. Geralt’s eyelashes were still wet, dark and spiky, and he wasn’t sure if his eyes had just watered with exertion (as he would probably say) or if they were actually tears of emotion. Would this sort of thing count as catharsis? What sort of emotion would he be releasing that way?

 _I submitted to what was done to me when I was young because I wanted to be a good boy._ And that was what took him down into the dark, if Jaskier was understanding correctly, feeling helpless and alone and clinging to the hope that he was being good. 

_Don’t leave me down deep alone. I’m happy if you’re with me, not alone._ Then he had something more solid than hope to cling to. He had Jaskier telling him that he _was_ good, and loved, and precious, and reinforcing that with kisses and loving touches, and he had him to physically cling to, warm and real and hairy (you could not doubt the comforting reality of someone who was hairy and sweaty). Not helpless, not alone, able to sink into that deep place of submission and feel _good_ and _safe_ there. That was a beautiful thought, it made Jaskier feel quite weepy in a happy way, and he hoped it was true. It meant that he could be Geralt’s protector. The fact that it meant he could get sloppy enthusiastic blowjobs at the same time was just icing on the cake. _I can protect him, I can make him feel secure, I can watch over him and go into danger with him and bring him back safely._ He sniffed back a couple of tears and kissed Geralt’s tangled hair on top of his head. 

“Sleep well, my darling, I’ll keep you safe,” he whispered. 

It was only natural that he fell asleep after a while; he was warm and comfortable and although orgasms didn’t make him as immediately sleepy as they did Geralt, they did relax him very pleasantly. He had pleasant dreams, too, vague but nice ones in which he sang beautifully to kings and queens and Geralt was proud of him and showed it afterwards in sweetly physical ways, including in a field of wildflowers which was very pretty. It wasn’t surprising to wake up stiff. One or both of them had thrown the covers off while they slept, and because there was always at least a little soft light in the tent (whether because Yennefer liked to be able to see her fucks or because she didn’t like sleeping in full darkness) he could see Geralt’s lovely, strong body, legs still twined with his, and that his cock was half-stiff too, resting companionably against Jaskier’s. _The happy couple,_ Jaskier thought and smiled. 

They really did make a nice pair — his more pinkish, Geralt’s more reddish, close in size, although he would freely admit Geralt was both a bit longer and a bit thicker than he was. Straighter, too, and perhaps because it was larger and therefore a bit heavier it didn’t stick _up_ quite so valiantly and perkily as Jaskier’s. He’d known a couple of men whose cocks were so large and heavy they didn’t even stick out much when hard — and those were exciting to look at and play with but they gave him a sore jaw if he tried to suck them for long and definitely wouldn’t fit up his bum, so Geralt’s size, which presented a challenge but one he could happily surmount, was ideal. One of these days he really should write a song or at least a poem about Geralt’s cock and how much he liked it. With a verse about his balls too, since they played an important supporting role, as it were. 

It was a little bit strange, thinking that a man who came as copiously and thickly as Geralt was actually sterile, that those plump, heavy balls that he was so fond of cupping and rolling gently in his palm didn’t actually _make_ anything, at least not the key ingredient. He wasn’t too sure how balls actually worked, if they were literally just sacs of cum that built up until it was released, a bit like your bladder, or what. Well, he and Geralt were very good counterexamples to the sort of prim idiot who argued that sexual desire existed only for reproductive purposes within the sanctity of marriage. Geralt couldn’t have reproduced if he had wanted to, regardless of who he fucked, and he was still full of desire, whether the kind of loving desire that drove him to Jaskier and Yennefer or the more impersonal kind that drove him into brothels or bathhouses — that kind did seem more like needing to empty a bladder, and he’d actually heard him describe it in those terms. 

Geralt had been incredulous when Jaskier had told him, apropos of something or other they’d been talking about in bed one night at Kaer Morhen, that he’d never paid to have sex. He’d been paid _for_ it, or given gifts or favours which amounted to the same thing, but never the other way and was rather proud of the fact. “But what about when you just _need_ it, like a piss, and you can’t ignore it and there’s no time to fall in love the way you claim you always do?” Geralt had asked. “Then I get myself off or if that’s not good enough I find someone else who’s feeling the same way,” had been his answer, which seemed perfectly reasonable to him — but then, that was a lot easier to manage with men than with women, not that he didn’t think women felt that way but that they had far less freedom to act on it, and for most of his life Geralt hadn’t been trying to have sex with men. They had had a minor, non-heated argument about whether going to a bathhouse counted as paying to have sex, Geralt arguing that you paid to get in and that was what you went in _for,_ Jaskier arguing that you weren’t paying the people you had sex with, who had also paid their admission, and the money was for the soap and hot water and towels after all, the same things you’d be paying for if you went to a normal virtuous bathhouse, not the access to nice friendly men with no clothes on. “You don’t love _them_ , anyway,” Geralt had said, trying to score _some_ kind of point, and he’d retorted that he did, it was an act of love to give someone that sort of pleasure and relief as far as he was concerned, even if you had just met them. Geralt had said, “Pretend you just met me, then,” which had ended the argument effectually and enjoyably. 

He wondered how Geralt would be feeling when he woke up. Would he still be a bit fragile, or back to his more confident self? He might easily be feeling horny, from the current state of him, but in a “please, please fuck me” way or the good old “I just woke up, I’m hard, you’re here, can I slip it in?” way. One of their experiments over winter which had _not_ involved Geralt being more submissive was seeing if, with permission, he could slide into Jaskier from behind while he was still sleeping. Conclusion: he could, sometimes, if he was slow and careful, and if Jaskier woke up before he quite made it in they still had fun. Waking up with Geralt already fully inside him, the slow deep rocking of his hips moving his body and his hot breath gusting on the back of his neck, was an astonishing sensation and it was only a pity that Geralt hadn’t enjoyed it when he’d tried giving it back. He’d woken up as soon as he felt anything between his buttocks and got uncomfortably tense, and after a couple more well-intentioned efforts they’d agreed it was just one of those things that only went one way and that was quite all right. Wake-up blowjobs were mutually enjoyed, though, and Jaskier was considering one now. If Geralt _was_ feeling fragile, though, he might not react as normal, so it was probably better to hold off. And anyway, he needed a pee, and could he get out of bed for one without waking Geralt up or dropping him into a pit of loneliness?

After some inner debate, he decided that being gently woken and told Jaskier was going to be out of bed for a minute or two and would come right back would be more tolerable if Geralt was still a bit sensitive than the possibility of waking up alone and not knowing where Jaskier was. He patted his shoulder and said quietly, “Geralt… Geralt, wake up,” then repeated it with gradually escalating vigour and volume until, when he was still a bit below a normal speaking voice, Geralt frowned and blinked awake. 

“Wst?” he asked. 

“I’m afraid it’s unavoidable, I’m getting up for a pee, and I just want you to know what’s happening so you don’t worry.”

“Oh,” said Geralt, and it was clear from the tone of the one syllable that he was still a bit delicate. He hesitated, then said, “Then I’m getting up too.” His voice was noticeably ragged, and it made Jaskier want both to fuck him and to get him a nice cup of tea with honey in it.

“You don’t have to. Just stay here where it’s comfortable.”

“No, I need a piss as well.”

“You do not, you have a bladder like a barrel. You almost never need to go during the night. Quite enviable really.”

“Either I’m going with you or I’ll make you stay here and wet the bed,” Geralt said, clearly trying to sound firmer than he felt, and hanging on with his arms tight around Jaskier’s waist.

“All right, love, you don’t need to make threats. We’ll just go together.”

Another of the ingenious things Yennefer had built into the tent, and which you wouldn’t have guessed at from its outer appearance, was a place where a panel of the wall could be pulled aside like a curtain, behind which was a small space with a privy stool. If you looked down the hole it seemed to go down for a strangely long way, and there was a suggestion of dark water at the bottom. When Jaskier had asked Yennefer where things that went down the hole ended up, since it clearly wasn’t a hole that went down into the ground where the tent actually stood, she had looked him right in the eye and said “At the bottom of the ocean,” which was either the exact truth or her messing with him, and there was no practical way to tell the difference, except possibly by means of a message in a bottle and a lot of patience. Because she liked things just so, there were two baskets of soft rolled-up cloths on a shelf alongside, one basket dry and the other perpetually warm and just lightly damp. Where those went was less mysterious; you dropped them in a bucket with a tight-fitting lid and forgot about them and everything went back to the way it had been when you left the tent. Jaskier thought it was an admirable system. Geralt, who had once, early on, given him a long lecture on choosing appropriate leaves for wilderness lavatory use and insisted he learn to identify great mullein and dock at a minimum, “because I am _not_ helping you if you wipe your arse with something toxic,” seemed unimpressed. (Jaskier had beamed and told him it was nice to know Geralt cared enough about his bottom to warn him. Geralt had given him a filthy look and said he just didn’t want to hear him whining.)

Now they stood side by side, Geralt still yawning slightly, and Jaskier had his usual difficulty with attempting to pee through an erection. 

“Are you sure you know how to do that?” Geralt asked, which was encouraging; if he was being sarcastic again he was clearly bouncing back. He was having no difficulty peeing and it was frankly discouraging. 

“You were only half hard to begin with, it’s easier that way.”

“Need me to aim it for you?”

“Oh, piss off. We already proved you can’t.” 

“We only tried once when we were both drunk.”

“Yes, and failed because you had your hand on my dick and it got _hard._ Oh! There we go, there we go, the dam breaks. That’s a relief. Oof.” The stream was under high pressure and came through in fits and starts, but it came through.

“It was fun, though,” said Geralt. “At least when we were drunk.” He glanced down at it. “Well, it looks like it’s going down now, but it put up a fight.”

“It looks that way.” He added in a confidential tone, “This was not, in fact, purely a pissboner; I was watching you sleep and thinking Thoughts.”

“What kind of thoughts?”

“The usual themes of how beautiful and sexy you are, how much I love you, how lucky I feel to be loved by you, all that. Classic stiffy fuel.” He finished up and gave Geralt a quick kiss on the cheek. 

“Don’t ever write a song where you rhyme piss and kiss.”

“That’s not really my genre, love. Back to bed.” He gave him a friendly swat on the bottom to get him moving. 

“What’s a genre, anyway?” Geralt asked, clambering back into bed. 

“How do you not know that? Have you been _listening_ to me talk all these years?” Jaskier asked, hopping in behind him and snuggling up again.

“I’ve been listening. At first I didn’t care what it meant, then later I wondered but it was too late to ask because I’d been letting you talk about it without asking for years, so I thought if I waited I would eventually work out what it was from context. Still no fucking idea. I don’t even know how you spell it. J-O-N-R-A?”

“Geralt, what am I going to do with you?”

“Tell me what genre means?” Geralt suggested, putting his head down on Jaskier’s chest. 

“It means a style or a type or a category of story or song. If it’s romantic or comic or tragic or elegaic or martial or — well, or bawdy, which is where I’d place songs that rhyme piss and kiss.”

“You do bawdy songs all the time. The song you were singing the day I met you was _trying_ to be bawdy. It didn’t make sense but I could tell it was trying.”

“Well, I’ve matured as a lyricist since then.”

“You _just wrote_ a song about a hurdy-gurdy man balling a girl called Audrey with the _word_ bawdy in the chorus.”

“Stop proving you pay attention to my work. Isn’t it hurting your throat to talk this much?”

“It’s,” said Geralt, and he faintly cleared his throat. “It’s kind of… part of the pleasure of it to feel it aching.”

“Like when you’ve been really well fucked but then you have to get dressed and go back into public and act normal and the whole time you can feel your arsehole throbbing, maybe leaking a little bit, and you’re so intensely, distractingly aware of it and if the one who did it to you is there and he catches your eye you feel like you’re going to catch fire?”

“Fuck,” said Geralt quietly. 

“You okay?”

“Yes, just…” He wrapped his arms around Jaskier, rolled on top of him and kissed him deeply and urgently.

“It’s okay, love, it’s okay.”

“I know. _Fuck_ , though.”

“Mmm… fuck indeed.”

“I love you,” Geralt said, and there was a low, urgent throb in his voice that tugged directly at the root of Jaskier’s cock, harder still as he kissed him again. 

“Oh, I love you, sweet boy. Sweet, _good_ boy.” He was cradling Geralt’s body with his, and he was heavy but it was an utter pleasure. 

Geralt took a few deep, shaky breaths, and seemed to be trying his best to calm down. “Wait,” he said. 

“Wait?” Jaskier asked, stroking his hair back from his face. 

“Wait. Too fast.”

“Of course. No hurry.” He shifted to stroking Geralt’s back. “All I want is for you to feel good.” 

“Nothing else?”

“For tonight, all I want is for you to feel good. In the morning I’ll be back to wanting everything. Enjoy my unselfish mood while it lasts.”

“Everything?” Geralt lifted his head and looked into his eyes again.

“The moon and stars, fame and fortune, love and beauty,” Jaskier said, stroking Geralt’s hair back from his face, tucking it behind his ear. “The usual. I do, of course, have love and beauty lying right on top of me right now, with the stars in his eyes. I’m halfway to everything already.”

“Well, you said Yen is the moon… and you’re not flat broke… and people have heard of you.”

“Oh? Am I actually the man who has everything? I must be hell to shop for.” 

“Not really. I’d just get you something impractical.”

“Yeah?”

“Fancy and impractical,” Geralt said with a flicker of a smile. 

“Well, if it was something to eat or to wear, I argue that that is practical. And if it was to make me look beautiful or smell delicious, well, I see practical value in that too.”

“You’re saying that to make me say you look beautiful and smell delicious regardless.”

“I am, it’s true.”

“And it’s true. But you’re a pain in the arse.” 

“I have never given your arse anything but the sweetest and most filthy pleasure.” 

“Also true.”

“Would you like some now? You haven’t had it in the arse yet tonight.”

“Oh gods yes.” 

Jaskier chuckled. “Well, why don’t you choose the oil you’d like to be fucked with? See what Yen’s got in the drawer.”

“Right,” Geralt said absently, as if for a second he couldn’t remember how to operate complex mechanisms like drawers. He kissed Jaskier quickly and pushed himself up on his hands and knees, leaning over to reach it. The covers slid off his back and Jaskier gazed appreciatively. 

“I love you on all fours,” he said. “Found something nice? Something to get you all slick and glistening? Something to make it just lusciously easy for me to push my fat, hard cock into that needy little hole?” He couldn’t resist squeezing and pumping it in anticipation. 

“I can’t pick when you say shit like that,” Geralt said, hanging his head. 

“Sorry, sorry, I’ll pipe down,” Jaskier said, grinning.

“Here, this’ll do,” Geralt said, slapping a bottle of oil into his hand. “Please.” He dropped onto his back beside him, legs sprawled apart. 

“Of course.” He took his time fingering him, both to make sure he was thoroughly relaxed and open and because he knew the time needed to get him thoroughly relaxed and open was putting Geralt through torments of impatience. 

“You can just fuck me,” he begged. “Please, you can feel I’m ready.”

“Mmm, no, you still feel just a little bit tight, let’s be on the safe side.”

“Tight feels good, _fuck_ me.” 

“You’re so cute and passive,” Jaskier said, and kissed him on the nose.

“Oh, fuck you,” growled Geralt.

“You are, though. You could push me on my back and climb on and ride me, but you don’t because you want me on top. You want me to _give_ it to you.”

“If you _know_ that why _don’t_ you?”

“Because I’m mean and horrible and I love seeing you all helpless and flustered and infuriated and _still_ lying there all spread out for me because you know once I stop pissing about and teasing you it’s going to feel _so-o-o_ good.” He kissed Geralt’s lips and shifted into position, just tickling and prodding at his anus with the oiled head of his cock. 

“If you don’t fuck me soon…”

“What, what are you going to do if I don’t fuck you soon?”

“I don’t fucking know, cry!” Geralt snapped.

“Aw, you wouldn’t cry, not a big brave boy like you.” 

“How can you _stand_ just teasing me? Don’t you want to stick it in?”

“I can stand it because I know I’m going to do it exactly when I want to and I’ll really, really enjoy it. I can take my time and even enjoy the pain of holding back because there is absolutely no way in hell you’re going to close your legs, I’m getting it because you need my dick like air and water.” 

“Fucking bastard,” Geralt groaned. 

“Tell me you do.”

“I need your dick. _Please,_ I feel like I’ll break if you don’t fuck me.” 

“That’s a good boy. Here we go.” He pushed in slowly, loving the _gasp_ that escaped from Geralt as he felt his cock breach that snug ring, the way his face lit up with abject joy as he bore in deeper, the sharp little whimpers of pleasure as he reached his full depth. “There it is. There’s the dick you love. You’re full just the way you always want.” Geralt kissed him fervently, lapping and sucking at his tongue. “Now, let’s tell the truth.”

“Hnnh?”

He drew back slowly and pushed in deep. “You love my dick.”

“I love your dick,” Geralt agreed eagerly. 

Out and in again, savouring the hot slick slide. “You want it all the time.”

“I want it all the time.”

“Your hot little arsehole gets all twitchy whenever you think about it.”

“My — oh fuck yes.”

“Your cock gets hard and you sweat and you _throb_ wanting this. You’re in heat right now, aren’t you?”

“Yes!”

“My gorgeous bitch in heat, I love you so much. I’m going to fuck you just the way you need.” He grabbed Geralt’s hips tight and pumped faster. “So lovely, warm and tight,” he murmured. “You’re being _so_ good for me, my darling, and isn’t it nice that we don’t need to keep quiet in here? You can make all the sweet little getting-fucked noises you want. Let me hear your voice.” He ground in deeply and was rewarded with a sharp, husky cry. _“Good_ boy. That’s what you need, isn’t it? Big hard dick reaching your deep-inside places, rubbing your needy little sweet spot, making your bum twitch and your cock leak, really, we’ve found another sweet little cunt here, haven’t we?”

Geralt gave an explosive grunt and bucked under him, grabbing handfuls of the sheet under him. “Yes!”

“Yes?”

“Yes, yes, fuck me, fuck my tight little cunt!” He’d never heard Geralt babbling like that before, he sounded frantic. His hips plunged and rolled and he groaned deeply at every thrust. He fell into a pleading chant of “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!” while Jaskier rode him as hard and fast as he dared, his hips clapping sharply against Geralt’s thighs. He wasn’t sure how much more of this he had in him, but fortunately, Geralt seemed so pliant and suggestible just now he might not need it. 

“Are you listening, Geralt?”

“Hnnnnhhh… yes!”

“It’s time to come now. Good boys come when they’re told. Are you my good boy?”

“Yes…”

“All right, my love, come for me now.”

It took two more thrusts but he felt Geralt’s whole body shudder as he let out a cry that, if he hadn’t known was rooted in pleasure, would have been quite frightening. He thought he could actually feel the deep inner-muscle contractions pushing out gush after gush of cum. Geralt’s knuckles clutching the sheet were yellow-white and the roar he’d uttered was fading into a broken-down whimpering. 

_Fuck, I think I’m going to go too far but I want to ask him._ “Geralt, you’ve been so good for me, now do you want me to reward you?”

“Hnnh?”

“Do you want me to come in your cunt or on your face?”

“Cuh…”

“Cunt? You must tell me. Say ‘yes, please’ if you want me to come in your cunt.”

“Yes, please.”

“Good boy. _Best_ boy. I’ll fill you up.” Just a few more feverish strokes and he was gone, gasping as he gushed into Geralt’s hot depths, shuddering and clutching his hips. With his head spinning after the bliss of that climax, he draped himself limply over Geralt’s body, nuzzling into the crook of his neck and shoulder, panting. After a little while of being aware of nothing much, he remembered Geralt would need him now. “You’ve been so good, my love,” he murmured. “I loved getting to just flood you. I can feel it squishing all around my cock inside you, just, nothing could be a sweeter mess. Good boys love creampies, don’t they?”

“Hnnnh,” Geralt said faintly.

“I’m just going to gently… pull out… with a nice squishy pop… let you feel it running out of you all thick and wet and warm, all over your balls… and I’m going to lie down and cuddle you, okay?”

Geralt made a soft affirmative whining sound, and curled his body to wrap around Jaskier’s as soon as he lay beside him. He was trembling all over, and Jaskier quickly pulled up the covers. “Everything’s all right,” he murmured, stroking Geralt’s back. “You were very good. You’re safe and sound with me and I love you so, so much. I’m so lucky to have found a wonderful boy like you.” He wasn’t sure how much of this Geralt even understood at the moment, but knew it was important to keep talking. “You were very, very brave to go into your deep place with me. I hope it felt nice. Was it nice?” Geralt nodded slightly and whimpered against his shoulder. “I’m so glad. That’s what it’s all about. Let’s talk about it again later and you can give me your full review. Right now you needn’t do anything but have a nice long rest. Shall I sing you to sleep?”

“Hrmm.” Geralt snuggled his face deeper into the crook of Jaskier’s arm. 

So he sang the gentlest lullabies he knew, with Geralt clinging tightly to him until his limbs relaxed into sleep, and by that time he was drifting off too. 

Geralt didn’t wake till morning, when he floated from a sense of the deepest well-being into a state of doubt and anxiety. _What the fuck was that. Fuck my tight little cunt? I can’t believe he stayed in bed with me._ _Was he really enjoying that or just trying to please me? Did I make him feel like he had to say all that… ugh._

 _If you wake up later and start to feel badly about any of this, wake me up and tell me. Don’t dwell on it alone._ And he’d promised he would. It was hard to, but he didn’t want another drama like last time. That had been stupid, he’d put everyone out. So he nudged Jaskier, who was sleeping with his face on Geralt’s chest, and whispered “Hey” and “Wake up” until he blinked and gazed at him drowsily and then melted into a sweet, dreamy smile. 

“Good morning,” he said. 

“I’m worried,” said Geralt, and stopped. 

“Oh no. What about?”

“The things I was saying last night.”

“Oh, why, my love? We were just playing. I had such fun, please don’t worry about it at all.” He snuggled down again, his eyes sinking closed.

“I’m glad it’s that easy for you,” Geralt snapped. 

“Sorry, just let me wake up a little bit.” He scrunched his eyes tight then opened and blinked them. “Okay… which part? Which things?”

“The cunt stuff,” Geralt mumbled. “The weird shit.”

“But you enjoy that so much. I think it’s lovely. And honestly, Geralt, you are far from the only man who’s referred to his arse as a cunt when making use of it that way. I used to have a gentleman friend who always called it his ‘boy pussy,’ which I did find a tiny bit funny, but then, I thoroughly enjoyed his boy pussy on several occasions, so it didn’t put me off.”

Geralt felt dissatisfied somehow. “Will you at least admit it’s strange?”

“Everything’s strange. Have you ever thought how strange it is to stick your tongue in someone else’s mouth and wiggle it about? Now look, if that was something you wanted to try out but in the event it made you too uncomfortable to enjoy, I’d understand. It seems more like you loved it at the time but now you’ve calmed down you’re squeamish.”

“Is there anything I could say or do that would put you off?”

“Trillions of things! Do you want examples of things other people have put me off with?”

“All right.”

“Well, there was the young lady who threw up while going down on me, which was absolutely not her fault and I was very sympathetic but there was no getting the mood back after that. There was the guy who unexpectedly tried to choke me, so I kneed him in the balls and never spoke to him again. Bit of a scary one, that. There was the lady who I was delighted to hear enjoyed anal but she was just obsessed with the thought of her shit getting all churned up by my dick, would _not_ stop talking about it, and you _know_ how fastidious I am. It’s such a delicate balance between my ardent love of bums and my awareness of what they were originally for. I was trying to be broad-minded at first because I was otherwise really really keen on her but I had to bow out when she suggested eating something she knew would give her the trots. Is this enough or shall I go on?”

“No,” said Geralt, bemused, “that’ll do.” 

“The thing is, apart from the choking which should never be a surprise, I think all of those are perfectly acceptable things for people to get up to together _if everyone’s keen_. They just didn’t remotely appeal to me. And I think you can see that your little cunt thing isn’t anywhere near the territory that bothers me. I hope you feel a bit better about it, having heard some of the range of my misadventures.”

“A little,” Geralt said. Mostly he was wondering how on earth Jaskier maintained his confident and optimistic approach to sex. Presumably there had been a lot more successful and satisfying encounters, like theirs, than ones that ended with sick to clean up or a knee to the balls. 

“Good, because I love you being so weird and perverted and just revelling in it with me. All this stuff about you that you think is wrong, I think is lovely and sexy and fun, and I will endorse and encourage it. You know your _actual_ bad qualities? Saying really mean things when you’re upset, isolating yourself from people who care about you, pre-emptively being rude to people so they’ll think you’re a dick and leave you alone and you won’t have to worry that if you made friends with them they’d eventually see your real personality and recoil from you, that thing where you describe things in the absolute most disgusting possible terms to try to get people as scared as you think they ought to be for their safety and you seem to be taking a sadistic pleasure in their fear and revulsion, hating yourself for having feelings, farting in my lap when I’m spooning you? Completely unrelated.”

“I farted in your lap _once.”_

“Thanks for homing in on the real issue there.” Jaskier kissed him on the forehead. “You know I’m going to validate the living shit out of you, tight little cunt and all.”

Geralt nestled into his arms again, cleared his throat and felt it sweetly sting. 

_**EPILOGUE** _

Sparks were climbing high into the night from the bonfires, people were dancing in circles or in pairs under the stars, sounds of revelry and things that would be better not enquired into drifted from between the trees surrounding the wide clearing in the local lord’s park, and Geralt sat on a bale of straw with a wilting garland of flowers in his hair, sunk in gloom. 

Yennefer returned from the dancers around the nearest bonfire looking prettily dishevelled, deposited herself next to him and bumped his hip with hers. “Scootch over,” she said, “and give me some of your drink.” He handed her the cup of wine and she took a deep draught of it and sighed. “Now,” she said, “suppose you tell me what you’re so miserable about before you cover the entire Midsummer Eve with a cloud of doom?”

“This morning,” he said, “when we were waking up, I saw something.”

“What?”

“I saw a grey hair in Jaskier’s sideburns.”

She blinked at him. “And?”

“I’ve never seen that before.”

“You are the most extraordinary nitwit sometimes. He gets those all the time. He pulls them out with tweezers so you won’t notice.”

“That’s even worse,” Geralt said, his stomach dropping. “How long has that been going on?”

“The entire time I’ve known him?” she said. “Conservatively.”

“Fuck,” said Geralt, dropping his head into his hands. 

“What’s the matter?”

“He’s getting older. He’s always been so youthful, I forgot to think about it, and I got so attached to him, I can’t stand it now I can’t forget any more. He’s going to get old and die. And I know everyone dies sooner or later, but I can always protect him from getting _killed,_ and there’s nothing I can do to protect him from _dying._ I feel totally helpless and I know it could be fifty years away but it feels like it’s bearing down on me _right now.”_

“Oh, for heaven’s _sake,”_ said Yennefer. “I suppose I should tell you now, or you’ll just make yourself ill with worry. Really I was hoping you’d notice on your own. It was supposed to be more amusing.”

“What do you mean?”

“Jaskier isn’t getting older. Jaskier hasn’t _got_ any older for a few years now. Not since I put a curse on the pair of you.”

_“What?”_

“Hear me out!” she snapped.

“What the hell are you talking about, Yen?”

“All right, you remember when I quite rightly dumped you on the mountain?”

“Right,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“And then you petulantly dumped Jaskier when he was trying to comfort you.”

“Yes, I distinctly remember being a stupid arsehole.”

“Exactly. So you’ll also remember that I was deeply hurt by your weird, dishonest, controlling behaviour and wildly unethical use of magic. I was absolutely furious. I hated your guts. And of course I was still in love with you or I never would have minded so much. After storming off I kept thinking _‘and another thing!’_ and I circled back around to give you a further piece of my mind and try to ensure you felt exactly as foul as you deserved to. You didn’t notice me approaching because you were having your fight with Jaskier, and when you told him that if life were to give you one blessing, it would be to take him off your hands, I thought _‘right!’_ I was determined that you should never have that blessing. I got to work right then and there and cursed you with all the fury and hurt in my heart that you would never, ever, as long as you lived, be rid of Jaskier. And the way that’s come to pass is that Jaskier will neither age nor die unless or until you do. His life is inextricably linked to yours.”

Geralt blinked at her stupidly. “But… but he left me then. We stayed apart for a long time before I went to find him.”

“Well, I didn’t think I needed to put anything in the curse to make him stay with you. I knew you’d end up together again sooner or later because Jaskier is, one, the most infuriatingly persevering person alive, and two, hopelessly, endlessly in love with you. Looking back, it's far more clear to me that you already loved him too, but at the time I saw him merely as an irritant and thought I was really ruining your life.”

“And why did he start getting grey hairs, if he stopped aging?”

“Because he was already getting them and tweezing them, you fool. You just didn’t notice because in your eyes, he’s always the gorgeous and excruciatingly annoying eighteen-year-old who accosted you in a tavern with bread in his pants.”

“So…” His stomach had dropped but now his heart was rising and threatening to choke him. “So I’m _not_ going to have to watch him get old and lose his health and suffer all the pain and indignity of age and decline and be powerless to do anything for him and then have to go on without him?”

“Correct. And he’s going to stay as pretty as he currently is, which is nice if you like that sort of thing, and I know you do. I have to admit, I don’t know what will happen when _you_ die, whether he’ll resume aging normally from that point and be able to live out the rest of his life, or he’ll simply drop dead with you. But _you_ never have to go on without him.” She gave a rueful little laugh. “So really, _I_ gave you one blessing, didn’t I?”

He threw his arms around her and hugged her so tightly that she squeaked, and had to press his face into her silk shoulder to stop the tears spilling from his eyes. “Thank you. Oh gods, Yen, thank you.”

She patted his back and said, “There, there. Don’t take on so.”

He sat back and sniffed hard and scrubbed at his eyes with his shirtsleeve, and glanced over at the bonfire that silhouetted the figures of Jaskier and Ciri, twirling in a light, leaping dance. “He’s probably going to want to make a song out of it. The ironic twist of fate. He loves that sort of shit.”

“Most likely. It really is a bit much. A curse got you into bed with him, and a curse keeps him with you.”

“I’ll never be glad I provoked you, but I’ll always be glad I got myself involved with the sort of woman who’d curse me like that,” he said with a crooked grin. 

“Watch out,” she said with a little smirk, “or next time I’ll just make your cock wither up and drop off.”

He put his arm around her and pulled her close to his side, resting his cheek against her perfumed hair. They sat and watched the dancing, forever apart from all that rejoicing humanity, but always joined to it by surprise, by love, and by blessed curses. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think that finally, really is it for this story. I wanted to follow them further, maybe to their next winter together, but I can't quite put that together and I'm leaving them here, with the closest I could give them to a happily-ever-after.  
> Especially because when I thought of this solution to the age/mortality problem, it made me gurgle with mirth.  
> Thank you for reading! This story was lovely fun and I felt very much welcomed by the Geraskier fandom.


End file.
